Fixing A Hole
by Freddo
Summary: Part two of my "Rikasha Incident" storyline in an alternate universe of Star Blazers after the Comet Empire saga. The Argo is stuck in the 20th Century...and there are enemies about. What will become of the Star Force? Read on to find out. COMPLETED.
1. Act One

ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE

STAR BLAZERS--**FIXING A HOLE**

Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT

By: Frederick P. Kopetz

Elements from_ Star Blazers_ and _Space Battleship Yamato_ are (c) 2000 by Voyager Entertainment and Leiji Matsumoto

Elements from _Doctor Who_ are (c) 2000 by the British Broadcasting Corporation

All characters portrayed in this tale are purely fictional and bear no resemblance to any real persons, either living or dead. Any such resemblances are either purely coincidental or are intended for historical verisimilitude within this fictional universe.

**ACT ONE-I'VE GOT A FEELING**

**

* * *

**

**I. THE TOWN NUT  
A Trailer in a Junkyard  
Along Pennsylvania Route 309  
The Vicinity of Tamaqua, PA, USA  
Thursday, June 22, 1967**

The glorious universe stretches into infinity...

It is filled with many different lifeforms, all of which exist as part of a cycle of life that began in the distant past. New stars are born from the cosmic dust of space, while others age, die, and return to the cosmic dust from which they were made.

Unknown to him, the Entity known as Lord Ekogaru, in his quest for Absolute Dominion, now has in the hands of his servant Gralnasz an unparalleled opportunity to rid himself of a great annoyance, once and for all.

In the year 2202, through an unforeseen accident resulting from the appearance of the planet Pellias, the Argo _and Gralnasz have passed through a rift in subspace, both having emerged helpless in the general vicinity of an Earth where the Earth Defense Forces do not seem to answer the _Argo's _urgent messages…and where both are in the hands, unknown to them, of a rather odd power, another great power from the depths of the Cosmos._

* * *

"Arrrrrrr, so what's goin' on here?" wheezed the owner of a nasty, irascible old voice.

"I don't know, mein Herr," grumbled another voice whose owner stood behind the counter of a junkyard; the office of the junkyard was located in a rusty old house trailer that looked derelict even in the twentieth century. "Why you haff to disguise der Schlactschiff like this?"

"It ain't a Schlactschiff, or a battleship as ya just said, it's a time ship, ya goon," wheezed the old man, who was clad in a dirty green workers' coverall. Its grungy green surface was broken only by a red patch with the name _MELVIN _emblazoned on it in white script. "Get me another cigar, wouldja, Von Schwein?"

"Mein name ist nicht Von Schwein!," protested the owner of the second voice, who was clad in a dirty old man's undershirt (a tank top), a filthy pair of slacks that used to be field-grey, jackboots, and a dark-colored ceremonial helmet that belonged to the Imperial Army of the Kaiser of Germany, circa 1917. "Mein name is Unterseeboot Kapitan Hermann Von Schweinfurt! In Deutschland, mein Vater was a noble! A Junker! The name is Von Schweinfurt! And you insist in calling me Von Schwein, which means, _"From der Pig!" ???"_

"Hey, I coulda just dropped ya back in the ocean where your U-Boat went down back in 1917 or 1916 or whatever. Then they can just play "_Ich Hatt Ein Kamerad_" at yer funeral, Hermann baby! And, I toldja, take off the spiked Kaiser Helmet ya bought in that junk shop in Philly as a souvenier of the Fatherland when customers are around. Part of this area has Pennsylvania Germans around, but the Kaiser ain't _that _popular, even half a century after the stupid war I plucked ya out of."

"What do you look like, never having shaved for two years, and talking about der space Schiffen all over der place? People think you are der town NUT!"

"That's because I AM the town _nut!!!_," wheezed Melvin. "If I was where you was, you'd be nuts, too. I'm outta my _TREE!_ With a killer _BEE!_" Melvin coughed, his speech degenerating into a long stream of cackling and cursing, partly in five different Terran languages, partly in Gamilon, partly in Gallifreyan, and partly in the Black Speech of Mordor. "I'm part Time Lord, part Goon, and Part I don't know _what_ I'm part of," chortled Melvin as he played with a greasy '51 Packard alternator with one hand, and drank from a filthy flask of booze with the other. His bloodshot eyes crossed about twice under his dirty grey eyebrows and then he smiled with satisfaction, with his wrinkled old face and demented, greasy grey hair and beard making him look like a distant relative of Captain Avatar's…who had spent about three years in the gutter, that is.

"_GREAT!," _he roared as he put his hand to his forehead. "Damnit! Von Schwein, there's a _real _Schlactschiff up in the sky, not like a bird or a plane, but more like a frog, and…me head senses a Techie scum around in space, and me heart senses another Brother around on Earth…ohh…noo, not HIM again! _Damnit! _Damnit, damnit, _damnit_, maybe they're AFTER me again! And me liver senses I need more booze, and me kidneys sense some kids in a _jam!_ _CRAP!_ Gonna have to play games with people's brainstems again, Melvin o' _L'adj! Brainstems. _Lots of fun!"

"Hey, buddy," said a strange voice in the trailer. "Stop talkin' about friggin' brainstems and wait on me, damnit? You got a water pump for a '61 Rambler American, bud?"

"What are you, a miner?" wheezed Melvin.

"What are you, a_ clown,_ bud? Like seven-tenths of the hard coal's been dug outta this part of the Keystone State years ago! I'm a fireman! And why's your assistant playin' that weird hippie music on the radio?" demanded Melvin's customer.

"Ain't hippie music, it's classical _noise_," wheezed Melvin over the sounds of the first notes of the Beatles' _Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts' Club Band._ "Got that water pump for ya, Bruce. It'll be fifteen bucks. Cash, check, credit card, ATM card, or Smart Card?"

"Melvin, you are a _nut_," laughed Bruce (his customer) as he pulled out a greasy wallet. "Cash, check, I understand. Credit card…rich people and jet-setting hippies from London use those. I don't know what the hell ATM Cards, or Smart Cards are, but they sound weird, like fake money from the future or somethin' … the day you see people usin' those'll be the day you see that Robot from _Lost in Space_ rollin' down PA. Route 309 out there."

"I seen robots. They're all right."

"Yeah, I bet you see_ lots_ of things thanks to your bottle," laughed Bruce. "Thanks for the water pump, ya old creep. For the town nut, ya charge good prices."

* * *

**II.WHAT HAPPENED?  
First Bridge  
Space Battleship _Argo_  
The Vicinity of Earth  
Unknown Time**

* * *

At Captain Wildstar's orders, the _Argo_ was now in a high orbit of Earth as the Star Force attempted to analyze the planet, in order to ascertain where, and when, they were.

"So, where are we?" asked Commander Mark Venture. "Is that our Earth below us, or isn't it?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," replied Sandor.

"Homer, do you have those scans of the comm bands finished yet?" asked Wildstar.

"I'm still working on it," replied Homer. "So far, I haven't found any activity whatsoever on any of the standard EDF frequencies. I've found a lot of activity in the old lower bands, though."

"What ranges?" asked Sandor.

"The old 500-1600 kHz band, and the old 88-108 MHz band," said Homer. "I'm picking up this transmission in the 740 kHz range, audio only."

"Switch it to the speakers," said Wildstar as a sinking feeling began to gather in his gut.

"_And now," _came the voice of an announcer, "_by popular demand, we're going to give you, on this evening in June 1967, another spin of the fab new Beatles album_, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts' Club Band, _beginning with the title track…."_

The transmission faded in static for a moment, and then came back up in the first chords of the song.

"It seems we're listening to a transmission from 1967," said Rosstowski.

"What I've picked up from around Earth seems to back up that conclusion, too," said Nova. "All I've scanned are a few early communications satellites, and one early, primitive manned spacecraft in orbit over the Russian landmass. If there's satellites, Derek, that means there's a tracking radar. We'd better get out of its range."

"Nova, please hold for a moment," said IQ-9. "I'm finishing a scan of the atmosphere."

"What have you discovered?" asked Sandor.

"A high content of carbon monoxide, sulfur dioxide, and various hydrocarbons over the North American, Eurasian, and East Asian landmasses, with a scattering of such pollutants over parts of the Australian landmass. Such large amounts of pollution could never exist in our own time. Also, bio-scans indicate that the population of Earth is approximately 3.5 billion humans, much higher than in our own time. Conclusion: the _Argo_ has traveled back in time, most likely to the late twentieth century."

"The first order of business is that we'd better get out of here," said Wildstar.

"Slowly," added Sandor. "We don't want to arouse the suspicions of anyone in the defense establishments of either the Soviet Union or the old United States. During the days of the Cold war, both "superpowers", as they were called, were both very suspicious of attack by either side. Nova also said there's a manned spacecraft in the vicinity, so we'd better move."

"Venture, use our keel thrusters. Slowly accelerate us up into a higher orbit. Then, maybe, we can figure out what we'll need to do to get back to our own time," said Wildstar.

"If we can," said Sandor.

With a heavy heart, Venture began to get ready to activate the keel thrusters.

"Okay, here we go," said Venture. "Taking us up…slowly."

At that, the _Argo_ began to slowly ascend into a higher orbit of 20th century Earth.

* * *

About thirty minutes passed. Suddenly, Sandor looked up from his instruments and said, "I _might _have a possible solution for our problem, Wildstar."

"What is it?"

"If we can reset the ship's chronograph to the exact minute, second, and millisecond that we're currently at, I might be able to calculate a warp profile that'll take us forward a great deal in time, but will move us only the distance we'd need to re-emerge near Neptune in order to save the _Westhampton Beach._"

"That sounds great!," said Wildstar.

"Yes, but there's several big _'ifs'_ involved."

"Such as?"

"We don't know the time down to the millisecond," said Sandor. "It can be calculated, of course, but we'd have to have some idea of the date and time in Greenwich Mean or Eastern Standard in order to set the chrono to a general range. We could then reset the astro-compass and sextant in order to take a reading from the stars and planets in order to reset the chrono. Also, we have just three days to do this."

"Why do we only have three days?" asked Rosstowski.

"The hyperspatial window, as I've calculated it, will close in just three days," said Sandor. "If that window closes, we could be stuck here…forever."

"What if we sent someone down to Earth to get the time, so to speak?" said Parsons. "Or, what if we tapped from their transmissions to determine the time, or tapped off an atomic clock?"

"Yes…didn't the old atomic clocks send out their data on a radio wave?" asked Nova.

"Hmmm…if we could discover the exact frequency, and know what we were picking up," said Sandor, "we _could_ avoid any contact with people from this time period."

"That would be preferable to going down to 1967 Earth," said Wildstar. "After all, if one of us ended up on twentieth century Earth, that might well change the course of history…"

"_Derek!,"_ cried Nova, who, to the surprise of everyone present, was beginning to glow slightly.

"What's wrong?" cried Wildstar.

"Something's happening!," cried Nova. "Everything around me is beginning to fade out! I'm…I'm…not…"

Before everyone's startled eyes, Nova glowed brightly, and then faded away like a ghost.

"_NOVA!,"_ cried Derek. "What the _hell_ happened to you? NOVAAAAA!"

"_Har, har, har, har, harrrrr,"_ came a loutish voice over the radio. "_One of you suckers is takin' a little trip, and now, her mate is gonna take a long, strange, trip, TOO! Say goodbye to all yer comrades, Wildstar, and be sure to pick up some love beads, MAN! Harrr harrr harrr arrr ARRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!"_

At that, Captain Wildstar began to glow, and he also rapidly disappeared like a ghost.

"WILDSTAR!!!!," cried out Venture as he vanished. "Sandor! He's gone! Can you guess what happened to them?"

"No…I can't," said Sandor, as the Beatles' song _Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite_ played on in the background. "But, maybe I can find out."

* * *

**III. A TRAIN YARD  
A Reading Railroad Train Yard  
Along Pennsylvania Route 309  
The Vicinity of Tamaqua, PA, USA  
Thursday, June 22, 1967**

* * *

The first thing that Nova Wildstar noticed when she came to was that she was lying in a patch of weeds.

The second thing she noticed was the feel of the sun on her bare calves, and the pungent smell of the air.

Smells like plants, she thought sleepily_… mixed with dirt and old motor oil and other scents I can't place_. _Is it the spring of 2201? Am I back on one of those Pacific islands sleeping next to a wrecked World War II plane? Did I dream everything about those two missions and about being married to Derek? Oh…..my HEAD!_

Nova sat up, feeling the sun on her bare shoulders a moment later. _What's this? I'm in a swimsuit?_ she thought. _No, some kind of blouse…pink…off the shoulder…some kind of half-shorts…..white….brown sandals….long straps going up my legs. I don't have clothes like these! And where the heck am I?_

Nova walked over to a puddle and looked at her reflection in something that looked like an oil slick._ Better be careful not to step in that in these shoes! YUCK! And I look like something Mimi dragged in to Dr. Sane's office! And where am I? I'm not on the_ Argo…..

A moment later, Nova stubbed an exposed toe on something metal.

A rail? she thought again._ From an old railroad track? It's shiny…but half-sunken in the ground. Is this a branch line? Where am I? The twentieth century? Did they still have trains on tracks, then? Think, girl. Where are you? And where did I get these weird clothes from?_ _These pants are waaay too tight! Not what I'd wear at all! Same with the top...._

Nova started as she heard a sound.

Ducking down behind a bush, she finally saw that she was at the edge of a railroad yard surrounded by lush green summer weeds, grass, trees, and other growth. At least, to the edge of the yard.

The rest of the railroad yard was filled with black, grimy hopper cars as far as the eye could see. As far as Nova could make out, the cars were lettered in white for old twentieth century rail lines that she had read about (in passing), such as the Pennsylvania Railroad and the Reading. Others were lettered for lines she had never heard of before, such as the Erie Lackawanna, the Lehigh Valley, the Chesapeake and Ohio, the Norfolk and Western, and the Central Railroad of New Jersey.

Hiding behind a car that was very faded and which read "LNE" along with an emblem that read "Lehigh and New England", Nova looked around at the bright light which was rapidly approaching.

The approaching light was slowly coming on the front of a large, yellow and green object that Nova recognized a moment later as an old smoke-belching diesel locomotive that burned fossil fuel of some kind. Its exhaust, she noticed, _stank_ a great deal.

While Nova watched the approaching train, she noticed that it was slowing down. A moment later, the huge train stopped with a long hiss of its air brakes.

Under cover, Nova waited as men that she guessed were the train's crew disembarked from the huge diesel and walked off towards a shack, either to change shifts or catch some lunch, she assumed.

Nova carefully climbed over the locomotive's front platform and crossed several tracks, noticing that there appeared to be a town off over a ridge to the north (Nova guessed that it was north by the relation to the westering sun).

Suddenly, while crossing a track, Nova heard a horn blowing, and saw an approaching headlight.

She screamed as she just barely dodged a speeding passenger train that consisted of three silver self-propelled diesel coaches.

"Who's that hippie girl down there?" said an older woman in a disdainful voice aboard the train as she saw Nova running.

"Some local kid?" said her husband.

"Look at those clothes. She's definitely a hippie, and she looks like she's on drugs or something!"

Nova wasn't on drugs, of course, but she was freaked out by the smoking train as it disappeared around a curve. Still, her mind wasn't completely discombobulated by fright; being trained in survey and analysis, she was analyzing the situation, and coming up with a guess.

If that train was slowing down, I must be near a town, she thought. _If I follow the tracks…maybe I'll be able to get to town…if I can avoid being hit, that is. Then, maybe I can find out where…and when I am, and what I'm going to do next._

* * *

Here ends part one of _Fixing a Hole_


	2. Act Two

ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE

STAR BLAZERS  
**FIXING A HOLE**

Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT**By: Frederick P. KopetzACT TWO-MAGICAL MYSTERY TOUR**

**

* * *

**

**I. LIFE ON A BENCH  
A Bench in the Reading Railroad Station  
Along Pennsylvania Route 309  
Tamaqua, PA, USA  
Thursday, June 22, 1967  
6:49 PM, Eastern Daylight Time.**

Captain Derek Wildstar awoke lying on a bench in a large room. He was partly covered with an old newspaper.

Damnit, where am I? he thought irritably as he felt his cheeks and felt an evening's growth of beard on them. _I thought I shaved. But if I'm just waking up, I wouldn't have shaved. But, I can't just be waking up; I was on the bridge of the _Argo,_ wondering where Nova went._

Wondering where Nova went? I _must've gone somewhere. Yeah, the last thing I saw, Venture was giving me a really weird look….._

Then, Wildstar pulled away his newspaper, and gave _himself _a weird look.

In place of his Captain's jacket, ascot, and Star Force uniform shirt, Derek was wearing a plain white T-shirt with a blue and red "P" in upper case on one breast. In place of his Star Force slacks, Derek now wore old blue jeans with ripped knees and a torn pocket, and in place of his uniform boots and socks, he wore beat-up white sneakers and no socks. All of his clothes were also somewhat dirty.

He looked at the newspaper; it was a copy of the _Hazleton Standard-Speaker_ for April 5, 1967. It looked as if it had come out of a trash pile somewhere.

Derek didn't get to look at the headline on the newspaper because an office door opened and an old man in a black uniform came out.

"Damnit, you kids!" he yelled. "You have a little dope, and you crash out anywhere you want! How long have you been there?"

"I dunno," muttered Derek, who was feeling around for his Astro-Automatic. Of course, he didn't have one. "I just got here."

"Well, you're gonna have to get going," said the old man irritably. "At least soon. The _King Coal_ is about to pull up in a few minutes, and although we don't get many passengers here anymore, we get enough so that it'd look bad if they saw you sleeping here. So, get up."

"Okay. I will."

"Hey…kid, are ya hungry?"

"Hungry?"

"Got some soup here if you want it, son. Come here and we'll have it in my office. Name's Ronnie, kid. What's yours?"

"Derek," said Wildstar, not daring to state his last name.

"Whatever your name is, you're welcome to soup. C'mon in and we'll rap, like your generation says."

Wildstar took up the stationmaster's invitation and talked for a bit as he sipped something like chicken soup. The garrulous old man, perhaps to avoid calling attention to his young friend, spoke largely about himself.

"Name's Ronnie Hartmann," he said. "Been workin' for the Reading Company since about forty-nine, before they retired the steam locomotives. Was in the mines before that, but they went kaputt."

"Why's that?"

"Derek, kid, don't they teach you kids nothin' there at the University of Pennsylvania down in Philly no more?" barked Hartmann while tapping the red and blue "P" on Wildstar's t-shirt.

Well, at least I know the significance of my uniform…now, thought Derek. _Seems I'm supposed to be a college student. Maybe he'll give me some other clues as to why I'm here? Probably not. Maybe I'm dreaming this. Yeah. Maybe I'm still in warp, and this is a really sick dream._

"I don't know much about why the coal mines closed up," said Derek. "Sorry…I'm just twenty-one."

"Just old enough to get soused, huh?" chuckled Hartmann. "Well, the mines shut down because they mined all the hard coal out of the hills…most of it, you see. The furnaces all went to heating oil, not much of a market for this crud anymore. The day it all goes bust, the railroad will just lose the mail contract, like we was supposed to in 'sixty-three, the year they killed that Kennedy guy, and the_ King Coal_ will be makin' her last run, kid. Goodbye Reading Company, good-bye my job."

"Can't you do anything about it?"

"In my place? Hell no. Too damn old, anyway. You kids, maybe, can change it…but don't know if ya can or not. Given the world you're gettin', with these nuclear bombs and Castro and Ho Chi Friggin' Minh and Vietnam and the Chinese and Russians and that son-of-bitch Johnson, maybe I can see why you kids are starting to protest and march and stuff. Sure like hell wouldn't want my kid goin' to Vietnam, anyway, between you and me and the walls. Damn. Seven o' clock. Train's late."

The phone beside Ronnie's old roll-up desk rang a second later.

"Yeah, Fritz? Delay? Lemme guess, another RDC engine went? Shit. Where'd it go? Just short'a the yard? The Railway Post Office car went, right? Right. Well, the mail's shit for late for Shamokin again. Ya hooked an RS-3 up to it? Good. Least the old Alco'll get 'em there. What else? Ya saw a girl in like capri pants walkin' around? And she was actin' liked she was stoned...outta it, lost? She sell ya any dope?" wheezed Ronnie. "Okay, was she cute, or did she look like Joan friggin' Baez? Hey, ya know I'm shittin' witcha. She's blonde? Okay. Looks kinda lost and was walkin' down the tracks….right?"

In the distance, Derek heard an insistent bell going off. The low, mournful blast of a solitary diesel horn sounded in the distance as a small plume of smoke appeared. Derek looked out at the platform, noticing a sudden, bright blaze of light in the distance that dazzled his eyes. He guessed it might be the train's headlight.

He turned his stunned eyes back to the surroundings at hand. He vaguely made out the outline of a young woman coming down the platform, looking in at a door that seemed to be locked.

"Hello? Anyone in there?" asked a mellow young woman's voice that Derek immediately recognized…and thought he might never hear again.

"NOVA!!!" he cried, dropping his paper.

"Derek?" said Nova, puzzled. Then, as Derek ran out, Nova's puzzlement turned to a wide smile, and she ran up to her husband, calling out his name just as the _King Coal_ pulled up. Now, its silver (formerly) self-propelled cars now being pulled by a filthy dark green diesel road-switcher that was puffing a plume of black smoke since the train's engines had failed out on the road. .

Derek and Nova embraced, tenderly whispering each other's names, oblivious to the stares of the disembarking passengers as they got off the train, which would soon be heading north.

As Derek and Nova kissed, touching each other passionately, yet with as much decorum as they could muster with the awareness that they were in public, Ronnie Hartmann went back into his office, looked out the window, and dumped out Wildstar's abandoned cup of soup.

"Guess he won't be needing this with his girlfriend around," said Hartmann laconically. "She'll probably buy him all the food they need. They could use it. Too damn long-haired and underfed, both of 'em," he chuckled. "Kids. Guess Joe College there has got a damn good reason to stay outta the service…and outta Vietnam, too."

Of course, Ronnie Hartmann (a distant forbear of Laurel Hartmann of the Star Force) had no reason to know, or guess otherwise. After he sold a few late-comers tickets to Shamokin and the train left, he saw no sign of Derek or his "girlfriend" around. Just as he expected.

As he began to close up shop (with no more passenger trains coming through until tomorrow morning), he saw a friend of his from the local Tamaqua Borough Police Department around.

"Hi, Mick," he said to the cop.

"Hey, Ronnie. What's up?"

"Hippies."

"Here in town? What the hell do they wanna do? Protest the war? Buncha Commies."

"College kids from Philly, I guess. Up for the summer. A boy and his girlfriend."

"If ya mean those two that were gigglin' and ticklin' as they went down Third Street, I almost ran em' in. Free love my head!. They need a chaperone or somethin'."

"Yeah," chuckled Ronnie. "These kids. What the hell is Tamaqua turnin' into, anyway?"

"Well, your train line sure ain't goin' Eight Miles High, bud."

"Aaaa…_shaddap_!"

**II. THE VAGABOND  
Somewhere Along Pennsylvania Route 309  
The Vicinity of McAdoo, PA, USA  
Thursday, June 22, 1967  
8:13 PM: Eastern Daylight Time**

A young man carrying a backpack hiked slowly down the shoulder of Route 309, ignoring pointedly most of the cars that went past as day turned into dusk. For the drivers of those cars, this seemed to be a good thing. The wanderer looked like a complete creep and didn't appear to be hitch-hiking. He looked like_ Totally bad news_, as people of this time would say. He was dressed all in faded blue denim, and wore badly beaten cowboy boots and a yellow button with a moronic little smiley face on it. This talisman wouldn't be introduced until the next decade, but he didn't much care about that.

The man's hair was very, very long, and his face…even here on Earth, with his face rendered as a more normal, albeit pale, Caucasian Terran hue, Shardovan Gralnacz, evil lost wanderer in time, along with his Technomugar space fortress, still looked like a cross between a very strung-out, half-balding hippie…and Death warmed over.

At the moment, he was in a shadow under a tree near a house on Kennedy Boulevard in the northern part of McAdoo, another mining town just a few miles north of Tamaqua.

"I don't want a ride," he muttered. "I want to find a way to demolish the society of these primitives so I'll get them out of my hair, and out of His Lordship's reckoning."

"Let's see," he said out loud as he watched a car going past, oblivious to the stares of several people passing by in the two-year old Rambler Classic in aqua. "What I need is a means to terrorize the Earthers. The Earthlings. The dirtlings. Yes. The people of dirt."

"Hey, buddy!" yelled a portly man as he walked up to Gralnacz. "You been watchin' too much _Star Trek_?"

"_Star Trek? _A form of entertainment?"

"It's a TV show, Dr. Spock. Or should I say Dr. Timothy Leary?"

"Those names are of no relevance to me, ape-descendant."

"What are you, some kind of NUT?"

"No, merely superior to _you_," said Gralnacz with a tight smile. The Technomugar general abruptly slammed a thin hand onto the portly miner's shoulder.

"What…the…h_eck?"_ gasped the miner as a wave of pain ran through his body.

_I am inside your **feeble** mind, Terran, _thought Gralnacz in silence with a smile as he psionicially merged with the miner. _Unfortunately, for you, we do not have long to speak. I merely need your memories, your hopes, your fears, your thoughts. Your body will fall down like a dry husk when I drain your life-force, and then I will use your body for my purposes. You, of course, will be dead, thank you._

"Buddy…Doctor Spock…I've got kids…a wife…it _hurts_! Stop it! God…stop talkin' in my head. GOD! It _hurts!_ You can have our world! I'll take you to the President…to our Leader…whatever the hell ya…"

_Oh, shut UP,_ thought Gralnacz with a wicked grin. _I have all I need from** you**. Then, I will go to the drinking establishment known as Butala's Bar, where you were going, for the rest from the barkeep. As for your** corpse….**_

The miner's body fell to the ground, with his eyes fixed upon Gralnacz. His heart had stopped, along with his pulse, breathing and brain waves. He was quite dead…and he suddenly looked over a hundred pounds thinner, and very shriveled.

"Let the local authorities deal with your putrid remains," murmured Gralnacz out loud. To make sure he was dead, he kicked the body, and then spat upon it for good measure as he walked over it, laughing softly.

They were alone. But, Gralnacz's spit was already burning holes in the corpse of the miner. It was heavily acidic.

Gralnacz walked on, ignoring the cars going past. He thought that perhaps he'd sample the local brew they called "beer".

Gralnacz thought that a "Rolling Rock" sounded good. Then, what would he do? Perhaps he'd go back to his ship and vaporize this village for fun? Then he'd look for the _Argo_?

_No…_he thought. _I have a better idea._ _His children liked this rock combo called "Beatles"? I wonder what I'd do to the Earth's future if I decided to exterminate Beatles on live media, announced our invasion plans, and then sat back and watched the chaos? No, that wouldn't do it. Need something better. Oh, yes. Their Senator Cameron, Presidential candidate; champion of the young. If I killed their young Senator Bobby Cameron and made it look like an agent of a foreign power did it...yes, that would do it! Watching martial law break out and watching the end of the society in slavery or a great war might be fun. Perhaps then the _Argo_ would fade away like a bad dream since the circumstances that led to its construction never would have happened. Then, His Lordship and I could deal with Desslok in our time at our leisure, neutralize Pellias, take my treasonous daughter, and then walk back in and take over the miserable society this Earth would become. Too easy. Almost like…practice. But, enjoyable. Yes, I need to laugh about something…_

Gralnacz laughed to himself and left. He decided to enjoy his…beer.

* * *

In the meantime, Melvin Seadragon had a conundrum of his own to solve back in Tamaqua. As Von Schwein slept off his beer, the old man staggered out into the junkyard. Walking past the wrecks of several cars, he sat down near the remains of a '51 Plymouth and looked up at the stars.

"So what should I do?" he muttered, looking up towards the endless stars. "I'm here, they're here, and we're gonna meet soon-like. I ain't ready for that meetin' and I ain't ready to throw my hat in the ring against His Gadmungsness and his stooge, Gralnacz, either. If yer' out there, YOU tell me what to do. C'mon, God, conscience, what ever ya are, in me head. Please talk t' this old intergalactic stew bum, huh?"

Looking up at the stars, the answer whispered as a thought deep in the hybrid alien's heart a moment later. _You know what to do. Part of your predicament is yours, though._

"What do you mean?"

_I gave wine as a heart's delight. You turned it into a mockery again, my friend._

"Wasn't drinkin' wine. Was drinkin' my own Rotgut."

_You know what I mean. You've clouded your mind when clarity was needed._

"Okay, Big Guy. I'm sorry, all right?" he sniffed. "Blame it all on old Melvin. Strike him down dead, wouldja?"

_You know that's pointless. You shall not depart until your purpose is finished. You know what you are to do; deal with Gralnacz and help the young ones. And also… aid your fellow "Lord" in saving the time stream._

"It's too hard, Big Dude."

_Nothing is too hard. You know I was once there Myself. I had less than you and I accomplished what had to be done. You can do the same. Just be true._

"To what?"

_To what you know to be the Right. And to Me.._

"When can I take out His Gadmungnessness?"

_That is forbidden to you. He and I, and he who toys with the Dark Lord behind the scenes have much to accomplish before this ends. You know warriors shall not work the Dark Lord's end alone. And the end of he who is his evil genius was wrought in My Counsels before Time even began…before the corrupt Musician even wrote his first song._

"Then what shall I do?"

_Do what you were called to do, as all of the others were called to do. It was said by one that "…there are great powers in the Universe, unknown, and unseen. I am just a small part of that great Life Force." Recognize your part in the great play, my friend. Walk onto the stage and play the part the Author has set forth for you._

"But what about my drinkin'…the other things? I'm so damn weak!"

_If you have an ear to hear with, then hear!_

At that, the still, small voice in the old man's heart went ineffably silent. And, at that, Melvin Seadragon began to weep.

To the ears of the Tamaqua Borough policeman who walked past the board fence on his nightly beat on foot the sobs he heard were but the cries of a broken-down old drunk, and the weird alien song the old man sang softly were but the mutterings of a lunatic.

_Well, the old fart's drunk on his own property, namely I. M. Forman's Junkyard. I'll let the old geezer sleep it off in his rat's nest_, thought the cop. _But, let the old bum set one foot in town tonight, and it's back to the drunk tank for him. We have enough crap in town with those kids I heard about from Ronnie at the train station. We don't need drunks wandering the street tonight to add to the trouble._

What he didn't know was that Melvin Seadragon was no ordinary drunk…

**III. VENTURE'S LATEST DILEMNA  
Space: Between the Earth and the Moon  
Space Battleship _Argo_  
Commander Mark Venture's Cabin  
Thursday, June 22, 1967  
9:12 PM: Eastern Daylight Time**

"So, what do you call this, Mark?" asked Holly Parsons as she sat on Mark Venture's bunk in his cabin. Mark sat at his desk, while Stephen Sandor sat at a chair near a round table. To his right sat Lieutenant Commander Patrick Orion, who was lighting up a pipe, illuminating his snowy white mustache and beard a little as the tobacco blazed to life.

"An informal conference," said Venture. "This isn't a briefing, this isn't a formal meeting, this is what you might call a gathering of friends."

"I think we know why," said Sandor.

Mark nodded sadly. "Guys…I could use your help. I've had a responsibility drop itself on my head today, and it's heavier than ever, because…"

"Because the Captain's not here?" said Holly quietly.

Mark simply nodded again.

"Now ye must know how Derek felt when Captain Avatar fell ill," said Orion sadly.

"I feel worse…" said Mark. "Sandor, remember that time when you and the Captain…were on that Gamilon Magnetron Space Fortress on the way to Iscandar…eight days away from Balan?"

Sandor remembered immediately. "Yes. The time when we had to stop the vibrations or risk losing the ship. As Captain Avatar said, time was important, and there was a chance that this ship would've been badly damaged then if you had to warp and leave us behind. However, for the good of the mission, I knew very well you'd have to risk that if time began to run out so that the _Argo_ could warp on schedule and still make it to Iscandar without being damaged by the magnetron wave. We were both prepared to live with the decision you would have had to make, but we had to risk that mission to that fortress."

"What are you saying?" asked Holly, horrified. "Are you saying we might have to leave the Captain and Lieutenant Wildstar down there on Earth? In the _past_?"

"Yes…we might have to," said Mark.

"You can't! That's…that's the most damn cold-blooded thing I've ever heard of!" cried Holly. "What the hell _are you_?"

"The Deputy Captain of the _Argo_, with the lives of over four hundred crew members at stake, and the lives of hundreds…thousands…at stake in our own time on that cruise ship!" retorted Venture. Then, Mark shut his eyes. After a long silence, he said, "Holly…Steve…Pat…I remember the way I felt then when Captain Avatar gave us the order to prepare to warp. I heard the crew take deep breaths of horror, and I still remember Nova crying out at her post, but I knew I'd have to obey Captain Avatar's order to warp out and leave you and Wildstar behind, Sandor. I couldn't think of anything worse than obeying that kind of order. Well, now I know what's worse…"

"Givin' the order itself, right lad?" said Orion.

"Yeah. But, for the good of the mission, I'd have to do it, and do you guys know what the worst part of this is?'

"What?" said Parsons.

"You've been with us before, Holly. The hardest part of this is knowing damn well that if Derek was right here now to for me to ask an opinion of, you _know_ what he'd say, don't you?"

Parsons sat in thought for a moment, knowing there was but one answer. "Yes. For the good of the mission, you'd have to leave him behind."

"Nova would say the same thing, too, in regards to herself. Perhaps even in regards to Derek, if she was here, although you know it'd sicken her, Parsons. Still, I know her. If she had to live with that kind of decision, she'd live with it. Maybe, if she were in my shoes…she'd make that kind of a decision herself...maybe she wouldn't," sighed Mark.

Parsons shook her head. "Not about her own husband?"

"Yes, she would. Remember, she's an officer, too," said Mark. "That's what I've got to be…an officer, in charge of… my command," said Venture as his voice choked on the words. "For the good of the mission…I've got to be prepared to leave Derek and Nova behind down there if I have to. I'm the Deputy Captain!"

"Yes…_if…_ they're down there, that is" said Sandor. "If they're even alive. If that was some sort of aftereffect of that warp….they may not even be here, anymore. They may not even be in this dimension, or be in a dimension where humans can exist. If that's the case, let's hope to God they died quick deaths."

"But, Sandor," said Orion, "If they're down there, wouldn't they affect history? I mean, they have different disease microorganisms in their bodies, and if one of the military powers of that time got a hold of them and shot them up with some kinda' truth serum, wouldn't they spill their guts about everything and change history? Heaven forbid it if they're in the hands of MI5, the KGB, the CIA or the Mossad right now!"

"What was the Mossad?" asked Parsons.

"The old Secret Service agency of Israel," said Sandor. "If they felt anyone was a threat to their country or came from one of the then-enemy Arab states that encircled them, they could use horrendous methods to make someone talk. The same thing applied to the other agencies you spoke of, Orion. Remember, we're in the height of what the old history books called "The Cold War." Then, there were many, many secret agencies and secret agents, and many ways of gaining information, particularly about one's enemies, or perceived enemies, who had weapons of mass destruction. In those days, those agencies would be merciless with their captives. They saw it as a matter of sheer survival, just as we and the Gamilons have had to be merciless with each other, and for the same reason. Survival."

"So what do you think?" said Venture.

"I think that if we can by any means find out, we should find out if Derek and Nova might be alive down there, and, if we have time, try to pinpoint their presence…and mount a quick rescue operation. We can't afford to have their knowledge alter time, if at all possible. But, on the other hand, we can't waste time, either. We have a window of about three days. If, in about two and a half days, we can't find any sign of Derek and Nova, we should consider them lost to us, and we should then concentrate solely upon getting back through that warp window to our time before the gap closes," said Sandor.

"There's billions of people on Earth in this era," said Parsons. "We could scan for them…our sensors could pick them up…"

"Only if we knew what we were lookin' for," said Orion. "Right? And how do we get in close enough to make those kinda scans? We can't exactly fly the _Argo _over the nations of this time like an airship, could we?"

"No, we can't, Sandor," said Venture. "Ohhh…this is _hopeless_."

Venture huffed out a deep sigh, and, without protest, Parsons walked over to his side, sat down in a chair beside him at the desk, and held his hand.

"Sorry I yelled at you before," she said. "I know this is a tough decision for you, Mark."

"Tell me about it," snorted Venture. "Sandor, do you think this is a lost cause? Are we just tilting at windmills?"

"No…I don't think so," said Sandor.

"You don't?" said Parsons.

"Yes…I think I have an idea…but I'll need to match wits with Doctor Sane. Is he…functional…right now, Venture?" said Sandor with a sly smile.

"I think he is."

"Good. Now we're accomplishing something. But, remember, we can't forget our primary objective, Mark. And that objective is getting the _Argo_ back through that warp hole in three days…and then back home again so we can save that liner and continue on our mission."

**

* * *

**

**IV. SUMMER IN THE CITY  
Near A Trailer in a Junkyard  
Along Pennsylvania Route 309  
The Vicinity of Tamaqua, PA, USA  
Thursday, June 22, 1967  
9:13 PM: Eastern Daylight Time**

Unknown to Venture, Sandor, Orion and Parsons as they weighed whether or not they might be alive, Derek and Nova Wildstar _were_ alive, and were walking down a road near the northern edge of Tamaqua, Pennsylvania even as the officers of the Star Force mulled over their fates.

"What I don't understand is how we got here, Nova," said Derek. "I don't think we traveled in time…"

"But we sure traveled in space! And how did we get these clothes?" she asked. "I don't even _own_ clothes like these, much less have them on the _Argo!"_

"Yeah, me neither," said Derek.

"Wrong. You own blue jeans!"

"But not with three rips in them," protested Wildstar. "And my sneakers look like something the cat dragged in!"

"Did you ever own sneakers like that?"

"Yeah …when I was twelve, that is," smiled Derek. "What about you?"

"For a while, in the underground city, half my sneakers were like that when they wore out," said Nova. "And my mom used to say then that I was lucky to _have _sneakers." Nova then shivered, remembering a period of time underground when her shoes wore out, causing her to have to go barefoot briefly until a new allotment came in.

"You probably were," said Derek. "First order of business. Are you hungry?"

"Yes, I am," said Nova.

"Well, to buy food in this time, we're going to need money. You know, what they used to call oldbucks."

"Not Federation credits," added Nova. "Right?"

"Right. Now, what can we sell to get a little money?" said Derek as they began to walk past a long board fence about a hundred feet away from a gas station. In the distance, a car went past, its lights shining in the dusk as it continued up the road north, which, as far Derek and Nova could vaguely see in the dark, seemed to continue on up into another ridge of old, small mountains. Nearby, they could see a billboard that seemed to read something like "BLUE COAL." A bit further away, on one of the ridges to the north, there seemed to be a rock with the word "JESUS" sloppily spray-painted on it in white paint.

"Our ..wedding rings?" said Nova. "They're gold…we can get others…and we'll need to eat to keep up our strength."

"Guess we could part with 'em," sighed Derek. "But where can we find a jeweler open late at night?"

"Anywhere, if we were in old New York. Certainly not here, Derek."

"Where do you think we are?"

"Well," thought Nova as she stopped by the fence. "If I remember my history correctly, I think we're in Pennsylvania, in the old United States…because we saw trains that belonged to the old Reading Railroad. I think Aunt Louise…or Aunt Yvona…said it used to go through Allensburg, which they called Allentown then. I'd guess we're within a hundred miles worth of Allentown, or maybe a hundred and fifty away from Philadelphia. The mountains kind of remind me of Colorado, though. Funny."

"Did Boulder look like this?"

"No, said Nova pointedly. "This looks more like Leadville, or Silverton or something. Looks like a town that's beginning to die." Nova stopped, stumbling a little.

"You okay?" said Derek.

"Something caught in my sandal, that's all," said Nova, stopping to pick a rock out of her open shoe. "Hard…dusty…black…left kind of a stain on the side of my foot…wonder what it is?"

"It's COAL, ya jerk!" growled a voice from the other side of the fence.

"HEY!" cried Derek. "Who the hell are you, talking to a woman like that?"

Suddenly, part of the board fence opened inwards, and a dirty hand shot out towards Nova, grabbing her arm.

"HEY!" she yelled. "Let GO of me! _Derek!_" cried Nova as the blunt, hairy hand pulled her roughly inside the gate, with its owner using his other hand to catch Nova in a rough, smelly bear hug.

"STOP THAT!" yelled Derek as he picked up a stick and wheeled around to meet Nova's assailant.

"Ya hit me, ya hit her, first," said the old man as he held Nova in front of him like a human shield.

Shifting position rapidly, Nova prepared to thrust an elbow into his solar plexus so that she could then trip him up in an Aikido move and get free of his smelly hands, but, a moment later, everything around them disappeared….

…and the three of them reappeared inside a filthy old structure that Derek and Nova recognized as a sort of prefabricated house….

"What's this?" said Nova in shock, forgetting for a moment that a filthy old pervert had her in his arms.

"A trailer," said the bearded old man who abruptly let Nova go, half shoving her on her face into a counter. Shocked, it was Nova who got hit in the solar plexus as she fell into the counter's edge.

"_Derek,"_ she coughed.

"Nova! Are you okay?"

"I'll…live," she gasped, as she staggered against the counter.

"All right, you, why the hell did you decide to play games with us, whoever or whatever you are?" demanded the _Argo's_ Captain as he held up his stick. "Talk, or so help me, you'll get this stick up against the side of your…"

"What stick?" laughed the old man. "Or are you gonna hit me with that broccoli you've got in your hand?"

"What?" yelped Derek as he looked at the bunch of vegetable in his hand. "What are you?"

The old man just began to laugh. "I'm a weirdo…a goon with some freaky powers."

"Good or evil?" demanded Derek as he held his wife, making sure she was all right.

"Good, I think," laughed Melvin. "Might as well introduce m'self, buds. Name's Melvin Seadragon. I'm a part-time junkyard owner, part-time Time Lord, part-time wizard, and full-time rummy. Sorry 'bout my breath, and sorry 'bout the games, Nova. Hadda get yer attention somehow."

"You…you know my name?" said Nova.

"Yeah. Know him, too. He arrested me once. Or, he's gonna. Sorry. When youze is a Time Lord, even a half-breed, time kinda goes screwy after a while."

"So you dragged us here?" demanded Captain Wildstar.

"Yeah. Good thing I got ya first. Otherwise, that cretin in the space fortress who followed you here woulda got ya. He's lookin' for ya, wants yer hide, woulda dragged ya here himself, but he woulda done a lot worse to yer wife than grabbin' her by the arm and screwin' up and makin' her fall inta a counter. Sorry again 'bout that. Drunk. It's the Rotgut!"

"Why did you kidnap us?" demanded Nova.

"To help ya get home, to give ya the information to help me do so, and to keep that enemy guy from interfering with this time period. He's gonna, ya know. Unless he's stopped, that is."

"Okay," demanded Derek. "Time Lord…Melvin…or whoever you are….how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Two ways to prove it," said Melvin as he walked up behind the counter and banged on a button on his old-fashioned cash register. A loud DING filled the room, and the tag NO SALE came up in the glass window in his ancient brass cash register as the till popped open.

"See this?" said Melvin as he pulled out a wad of bills. "This is fer you, and this is fer her. So youse two can eat in the mornin' without sellin' your wedding bands. Will two hundred bucks each do ya?"

Nova stood surprised as Derek said, "Guess it will. What else do you have to show us?"

"Thought ya'd be difficult, Cap'n," laughed Melvin as he got out a key and undid a padlock on a very dirty old door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY with a faded old sign that seemed to be purchased at the local Spillanes' 5 and 10. "Come in here and I'll show ya? Ya think this is just a trailer? Well, the part yer in is. This sure ain't."

Derek and Nova skeptically looked through the door into a dark space…and then, their eyes went utterly wide, and they began to feel slightly cold with sudden sweat.

* * *

In a mixture of awe and fear, Derek and Nova Wildstar walked together into a vast, huge space that was most certainly _not _the inside of a house trailer!

"It's a Type 42, kinda old, it is..." Melvin said as he walked behind them into the vast control room, which looked like it was bigger than the junkyard itself.

The vast room had something that looked like a high stone ceiling, held up with huge wrought-iron pillars that looked both strangely Victorian and strangely modern all at once.

The pillars arched cathedral-like under the huge roof, and met over a massive glowing crystal column that seemed to go straight up into the ceiling somewhere. The huge column ended in a vast eight-sided structure covered with lights, gauges and computer screens that looked like a control console.

"What is this?" gasped Nova, forgetting the pain in her stomach as she looked fascinated at the vast room.

"Ain't ya ever heard of a TARDIS before?" chuckled Melvin.

"TARDIS?" asked Wildstar. "What is it?"

"TIME AND RELATIVE DIMENSIONS IN SPACE," said Melvin helpfully. "It's kinda a term adopted for it by an old friend a' mine; Theta Sigma we used to call him in school. To be more precise, this is a Type 42 Time Capsule. It's way bigger on the inside than on the outside because now we're in a different dimension within space relative to the one outside. All we do to move around in time and space in this baby is switch the dials," said Melvin as he walked over to the console with Derek and Nova following momentarily stunned behind him. Then, Wildstar relaxed a little…but just a little.

The controls and dials on the console didn't even look as modern as those on the _Argo_. A lot of the controls looked strangely…19th Century. There was brass on the console, carved walnut, huge dials, levers, and wooden telltale signs of some kind in windows on the console that read 20th CENTURY: HUMANIAN ERA Relative Date 52341.110.

However, a computerized readout read: THURSDAY 22 JUNE 1967 AD 9:29.05.00.67.89.999 PM, with the digits for the millionths, tens of millionths, and hundreds of millionths of seconds whizzing by so fast that they were a mere blur.

"Our chrono only goes to five places below the decimal, Derek," gasped Nova in awe. "If he could beam this reading to the _Argo_…if it's accurate, he could reset…"

"All your instruments and getcha on yer way home," he grinned. "Cap'n Wildstar, don't bother squinting at that screen next to it; it's all in Gallifreyan…ya could never read it. The only time this clock ever goes wrong is if ya have a Critical Timing Malfunction, and that almost never happens with the Type 42's and up. The old Type 40, on the other hand, ya sneeze, and ya have a critical timin' malfunction with that sucker in two shakes of a _rat's_ tail."

Nova recoiled a bit as something scurried over her sandal-clad toes. Looking down, she went "_Yeeeccchh!",_ as she saw the tail of a large rat scurrying over her foot as the slimy black-furred creature squeaked and ran off under the console. "Go_ away_, you! " yelled Nova as an afterthought.

"You have rats on this thing?" demanded Wildstar.

"_All_ ships have rats on 'em, don't ya _know_ that?" laughed Melvin. "Rats and ships go together. They even go with time ships. Yer ship's got rats on it."

"I beg your pardon, sir!" said Derek. "We keep a tight ship on the _Argo_."

"And a clean ship," said Nova. "Anything we don't catch, Mimi gets," she insisted. "Why don't you get a cat, Melvin?"

"Don't want one. But that's beside the point. Now, have a look at this…"

Melvin flicked a switch, and a column of light shot up out of part of the huge octagonal console. "Holographic image. First, yer ship, to show ya I'm not nuts…totally, anyhow…"

Derek and Nova saw a 3-D image of the _Argo _appearing in the pillar of light a moment later. _Well, he can't be a total liar, or from this time,_ thought Derek. _At least he knows what our ship looks like…no one else from this time would know that…or be able to teleport us around like that…_

"Yer ship, see? It's out between the Earth and your Moon right now…"

"Fine. Take us back there," demanded Derek.

"Not yet. I'll help ya…but ya gotta help me, which will also help you, even though ya can't see the sense of it….You're here…" said Melvin as he made a graphic of the solar system appear above his console. "And, your enemy's ship…ships, really, cause there's two a' those fortresses….are out _here…_," said Melvin as he made an image of the Technomugar space fortresses appear in his massive shaft of light, followed by another map….

"Ohhh! The enemy fortresses that chased us in our last battle! They're out by the Jupiter area," said Nova. "But coming in pretty fast by the looks of it, Derek!"

"Not that fast. His drive's out for the moment, too. Ya got about two days before he gets near here, even at his full sublight speed…least what he can make right now. The battle royal, with his ships…would be Saturday. You should be back by then. In the meantime, we have to stop the enemy commander himself. The same guy who attacked you, bubbaleh! The guy who got ya in this predicament!!"

"He's_ here_?" said Derek. "On Earth?"

"Yeah. Said so before, but ya either didn't hear me, or believe me! Damn cyborg! He can do the teleportation trick, too."

"But how?" asked Nova.

"Long story, and you'll hear a better version later from someone else, I think. But, there ain't much time to stop him. He's nearby, and he's_ got_ to be brought down. And I can't do it meself."

"Why?" asked Derek.

"I'm not allowed to. Not this time. Long story. But, I can help you bring him down. If ya don't, he's gonna begin to pull your history apart eight ways from Sunday, Derek, buddy."

"Where is he, then?" asked Derek, who glanced at Nova. Nova immediately knew her husband's mind was made up…and it seemed like a fair, but strange, bargain somehow. Help out this…Time Lord…who wanted to help them in their war against the new enemy who had attacked Earth, and he'd help them get back home.

Or was it too good to be true?

"Just…arr.…less than…fifteen miles away. It's to the north. I'll show you where the town is. Findin' him's another matter."

"What does he plan to do to ruin the flow of time?" asked Derek.

"Just kill him guys on live worldwide satellite TV for a start…and make everyone think the KGB or CIA did it…"

At that, Melvin switched to an image of a young, handsome politician with wavy hair and a ringing, winning Irish voice from a recent film. Derek didn't recognize him at first, but, after a moment, Nova did.

"Derek!" she cried. "Our enemy is planning to kill Senator Bobby Cameron!"

"Who's he?"

"Just the man who almost won the Presidency here in 1968 and helped bring the riots about the Vietnam War and other things to an end...he was the nephew of the President they lost by assassination in 1963."

"Why didn't he win the Presidency?"

"Because he became ill and withdrew from the race that year. However, he championed the space program for many years. The mission that discovered Planet Brumus was launched due to his influence in 1998."

"If that doesn't begin to change your history…I don't know what would," said Melvin.

* * *

**Here ends Part Two of _Fixing a Hole_**


	3. Act Three

ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE

STAR BLAZERS

FIXING A HOLE

Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT

By: Frederick P. Kopetz

* * *

ACT THREE--YOU NEVER GIVE ME YOUR MONEY

* * *

I. ON THE WAY TO BUTALA'S BAR  
**Melvin Seadragon's Junkyard**  
**Along Pennsylvania Route 309**  
**Tamaqua, PA, USA**  
**Thursday, June 22, 1967**  
**10:49 PM, Eastern Daylight Time.**

"Who's _he_?" asked Derek Wildstar while he and Nova walked through the junkyard past the rows of rusted-out cars.

"Him?" asked Melvin. "The guy in the spiked helmet is Hermann Von Schwein."

"Von Schwein**furt**, du schweinhund!" protested Von Schwein.

"He's my assistant; kinda my travellin' companion right now," said Melvin.

"So, let me get this straight," said Derek. "In order to preserve history, we have to keep our enemy, Gralnacz, from killing Senator Cameron?"

"Was ist los? Der enemy wants to geschlossener der Irishman?" asked Von Schwein.

"No, Hermann," sighed Melvin. "They're after an influential Senator. "If he is killed on live TV, we might just have a revolution in the Western World."

"Vat about ze Eastern vorld?" asked Von Schwein. "Is it explodin'?"

Melvin stumbled against a wrecked car, and its radio suddenly came on. A singer was singing a nasty-sounding song that went, "_And ya tell me, over and over and over again, my friend. You don't believe...We're on the eve…of Destruction_?"

"SHADDAP!" yelled Melvin.

The radio went quiet.

"The issues are more complex than you guys think," said Melvin. "The youth generation, at this point in time, is very distrustful of its elders. The Beatles are one international symbol of that generation, and so is Senator Cameron. As you know, if he would be shot on live TV, especially by an agent who appears to be a government operative, youth worldwide might attempt a revolution; worse than the sort that we knew they would attempt in 1968 after the death of Doctor Martin Luther King."

"It would also ruin our history," said Nova. "Derek, as I told you, Senator Cameron helped build the space program up to the point so that we had the technology to hold off the Gamilons as long as we did before Starsha gave us the wave motion engine plans."

"Yeah, right," said Melvin. "With such a severe revolution taking place, society would become more oppressive than we knew it to be. If something like a worldwide dictatorship evolved, the generation of knowledge that led to Earth's being able to hold off the Gamilons for as long as they did might never evolve; and Earth would lose to the Gamilons."

"Utterly lose?" asked Nova.

Melvin nodded. "Your history; your very existence, might depend upon your preserving the time stream as is. That's why I'm here, buddy; to help ya do just that."

"Derek…should we believe this man?" asked Nova in a whisper.

"Given what sort of technology he seems to have…and given how he seems to be inclined to help us return to our time," said Derek. "I'd say yes. Except…I have a question. If you know this, how come you can't interfere on your own?"

"I can assist, but not interfere," said Melvin. "Others of my race…might be able to do more…but I can pretty much just help you and have you and Nova go off and do what you can to stop Gralnacz."

"If we agree to do this, what can you do to help?" asked Derek.

Melvin tossed a set of keys, three cards, and some wads of money at them. "A counterfeit driver's license which I created in this State's database to match your identity, a forged registration in your name with matching license plate, and a fake insurance document, with a policy existing in the database of a major insurance company, and two thousand dollars in the local currency, as well as a set of keys for a vehicle. Oh, yeah, Nova. Put yer leg up!"

"Huh?" she said.

"Yer leg. The thing with yer foot attached to it. There…hmmmm..," he said as Nova raised her leg. "Matches yer sandal strap well enough, I guess…know how you women are about matchin' yer bag with your shoes…here..," he said, tossing Nova a large handbag in a vague American Indian style that was the same color as her shoes. "Some stuff in there fer you, too. And, now, let's go look at your vehicle."

"What kind of vehicle?" asked Derek.

"Come out here and I'll show yuh," said Melvin as he sipped at his bottle of booze. "I think you'll like it, heh, heh, heh!"

* * *

A few minutes later, Derek and Nova found themselves looking at a blue 1966 Ford Mustang convertible with a white top, bucket seats, and a blue and white interior.

"How d' you like it?" asked Melvin.

"You're letting…us…drive_ that?_" asked Derek.

"It's beautiful," said Nova, running a hand over the top of one of the white vinyl interior door panels.

"Aaaa…this here's me other car. But as for this…I customized her a little," said Melvin. "They never came in that shade of blue outta Detroit. She's got a 289 V-8, custom radio-cassette player from 2002 stuck in the dash…"

"How did you manage that?" asked Derek.

"I get around in time a bit. Don't worry…looks just like the Ford original in case the cops stop ya," gulped Melvin. "Ya put the tape in by shovin' it in the front panel like this…and…"

Melvin did so with a cassette, and he turned the key to "Accessory" at the same time. Quite promptly, the sound of the Hollies singing "_Bus Stop_" blasted across the junkyard.

"Sorry, it's a little loud," muttered Melvin as he turned it down.

"A _little_ loud?" cried Nova. "Sir, you almost blew out our eardrums!"

"Sorry, I'm gettin' kinda deaf in me old age," smiled Melvin, who then turned the key to "Start". The Mustang began to crank over and then it started up, rumbling nicely through a pair of twin glasspak mufflers.

"So _that's_ what the old piston engines sounded like close-up," muttered Derek. "Does this burn fossil fuel?" he asked as he counted the money and gave half to Nova.

"Ya it does. And, when ya stop fer gas, ya'd better buy premium grade. If ya don't, she'll knock like a dog in heat!" laughed Melvin. "I upped the compression ratio on this thing a wee bit."

"You know, I haven't looked in my purse yet," said Nova as she began putting away her share of the money. "I….I…what's an astro-automatic doing in my bag?"

"I put it there, luv," said Melvin. "Ya need somethin' ta shoot Gralnacz with when ya find him, don't cha? Hey, Wildstar, take this! Afterthought!"

Melvin tossed Derek a bag that looked like a camera bag. "What's in here? I…"

He stopped when he opened the bag marked "Polaroid" and withdrew a nasty folding hand blaster of some type.

"A Corellian JK-47 Special, meant for assassins and undercover agents. I know, ya don't know where the hell Corellia is. Don't look at me like that. Damn…I know what yer thinkin'. Long story. In at least one universe I know of, maybe others, you two are anime characters. What a hoot!"

"Okaaaay," said Captain Wildstar. "Let's go over this again. You want us to catch up with Gralnacz, kill or incapacitate him with these weapons that are very, very much out of place here in this time, and make a getaway in this vehicle, and you'll send us back to the _Argo_?"

"That's the deal, yeh."

"What happens…if we're _caugh_t…with these weapons in this time period…by the local authorities?"

"You'll figure a way out of it…or something'll happen along. I know it will. But ya gotta do what you gotta do."

"And what if it doesn't?" asked Nova.

"Well…ya see those knobs there…for the headlights…wipers….et cetera? Pull the one marked "**Emergency**….next to the keys…the one that looks outta place…and mutter to yerself…_'There's no place like home.'_"

"Very funny," sniffed Nova. "I'll just think of the _Argo_, instead, and…"

As soon as Nova pulled the lever, a weird noise and an even weirder sensation ran over the couple. Their surroundings flickered out like a bad dream…or the image from a flash camera….

…and, in their place appeared the lower fighter bay of the _Argo._

It took Derek and Nova a moment to register what had happened. Their car had just…apparently…warped into the lower fighter bay of their ship.

"What the..?" yelled Captain Wildstar.

"Derek…are we really back on the ship?" cried Nova.

Derek sat aghast, looking at Cosmo Tiger II's all around them in the bays. The car was still idling, and it was sitting right in the middle of the flight deck. "We are!" he cried. "But..I don't believe this! What kind of technology could put a SMITE device inside an old Terran motor car?"

"Hey…who's there?" cried Hardy as he stopped in his tracks on his way off a ladder. "What kind of thing is making this noise…I…_Captain? Nova?_" he cried. "What the hell are you two doin' heah? And what are you doin' all dressed up in those ancient hippie getups?"

Derek shrugged, pulling open the lock button on the Mustang so that he could get out…

As soon as he did, the car and its occupants glowed brightly, and before Hardy could adjust his dazzled eyes, they were gone.

* * *

A bare two seconds later, the Mustang reappeared in a huge, dark vacant lot of some kind with a road about a hundred yards away in the distance. Derek and Nova looked at each other, quite stunned, as they looked up in the sky, saw the familiar constellations of summer, and knew they were back on Earth.

"Where are we now?" asked Derek.

Nova shrugged as she looked out in the darkness. "Hmmm...I see mountains, and a large decrepit structure about 100 meters away from us…towards the east. The road's back towards the west."

"This looks nothing like the area around that Melvin character's junkyard," said Derek. Impulsively, he tried the "**EMERGENCY**" switch again, but this time, nothing happened. He tried it two more times. Again, nothing happened.

"Okay, what happened to this car's…warp capability?" said Derek.

"Maybe it only works when it's really needed?" said Nova.

"No…forty to one, it's under that old character's control somehow," said Derek. "I wasn't willing it to come back here to the middle of nowhere…but it did it by itself. Any idea where we are?"

"That structure looks like something they used to call a "coal breaker"," said Nova. "It was a machine that was used to crush mined minerals down to smaller pieces so they could be sold. It looks like it hasn't been used for years…I guess this is part of an abandoned mine or something."

"And the road's some distance away….and the ground feels substantial enough under these wheels," said Derek. "Okay…I guess there's just one way out…"

"What…?"

"Accomplish our…mission," said Wildstar as he pulled out the knob that turned on the green dashboard lights, and then, with another pull, the car's headlights. He looked down at the automatic shifter on the floor. "Let's see…P R N D 2 1…..it's in "P" now…."R" must be "Reverse," "N" must be "Neutral" "2" and "1" must be gear settings….."D"…I'm not sure what that does…so let's try it…"

Derek shifted the shifter into "D", and, with a neck-snapping lurch, the Mustang began to move slowly forward. "Ahhh…didn't want it to do that…..not yet….okay….how do you stop it? There's pedals on the floor….let's see what this one on the right does…"

Derek put his foot on the accelerator, and with a screech of tires, rush of coal, slate and gravel, roar from the motor, and a scream from Nova, the Mustang began to rocket towards the highway at 20…30…35 miles per hour.

Derek figured out what the brake did as the vehicle lurched out onto the shoulder. With a loud screech, it came to a stop right near the white line, just as a diesel semi roared past on the road, flashing its lights and honking its horn imperiously at Derek and Nova's little coupe.

Somehow, Derek had enough presence of mind to put the 'Stang back into "Park" as the semi roared past, its driver giving them a long, hearty middle finger salute as he roared by hauling a huge tank trailer that read "ORINCO" down its side.

Derek sat behind the wheel, huffing and puffing as Nova caught her breath. "Okay…I think I'm getting the hang of this," he said.

"Derek, the first time that you drive a new car, are you _always _this bad?" asked Nova.

"Usually…no…but I'm usually not driving old-fashioned internal-combustion monstrosities that burn fossil fuel!" he snapped. "I'm used to aircars and planes…okay?"

"Derek, should I try to drive?"

"Nova…I think I can handle this. Now…keeping a foot firmly on the brake, permit me to shift into "Park", flick this lever for the indicators," he said, flipping on the blinker for a left turn even as he intended to turn right, and then pull out….."

Again, with a very lead-laden foot, Derek Wildstar roared out onto Pennsylvania Route 309. Grateful that no one was behind them, he zoomed off, taking a right turn because it "felt" right, and guessing at the speed limit, he got the Mustang to more or less keep to 40 MPH as, unknown to him and Nova, the Mustang roared north towards its destination…the borough of McAdoo.

* * *

A few minutes later, Derek had learned the Mustang well enough to get its speed down to a steady 35 as the coupe bumped over a railroad crossing and entered the small town of McAdoo.

As Derek drove, Nova played about with the radio. She had picked up an FM station that was playing the _(Theme From) The Monkees._ In four-channel stereo. Quite loudly. Combined with the rumble of the Mustang's glasspaks, its electric blue paint, and the open top, the coupe and its occupants made several people turn their heads as it roared into McAdoo, past the mostly older and rustier vehicles of the locals parked in the street. Although some kid went past in the dark on a skateboard, yelling, "TUFF, MAN!" at the young couple in their car, most of the locals thought. _Hippie Freaks From Philly. Just on their way up to the Poconos. Not gonna stop here and buy anything. Nuisance. Get the Hell out of our Town,_ and other such endearing things.

"Derek, do you think we're causing a scene?" asked Nova.

"If I were you, I'd turn down the radio," he said.

"Oh," squeaked Nova. She turned down the radio, muting _Summer in the City,_ just as, behind them, an even more conspicuous car came up on their bumper.

As Derek stopped at a light, he looked towards the left, his eyes popping open as a shiny black Jaguar XKE coupe stopped beside him in the passing lane. The tinted window rolled open, and, a moment later, so did his mouth.

A young woman with raven-black hair, who wore features (if possible) even prettier than Nova's and a black leather jacket of some type said, in an exotic accent Derek couldn't place, "I say…care to drag?"

"Uhhh…uhhh…"

"Nonononono," whispered Nova urgently, just as Derek learned that a kick from Nova could hurt if placed the right way over a transmission hump.

"Oh, too bad…would be nice to see what your car could do, no?" smiled the stranger. "If you'll excuse me, I must be going. Business calls."

As soon as the light turned green, the girl whizzed away at about 45.

"Who does she sound like?" muttered Derek. "Sounds..."

Behind them, someone honked. "Earth to Derek. Wife to HUSBAND!" snapped Nova. "Do you want to move, or shall I drive and leave you to ogle the locals, sir?"

"Oh…sorry…she sounds like Tatiana or someone. Just that accent…that's all…"

"And that car, and that hair, and that face, and that tight leather jacket, right?" huffed Nova.

"Just unusual for this time, Nova."

"Ohhh…please," said Nova. "You mean to say you never saw the old TV films? People dressed like that to emulate these supposed secret agents…or fictional characters who were supposed to be secret agents."

"Who?"

"I don't know…I don't have a photographic memory!" snapped Nova. "Ohh…enough of this. See that bar?"

"That place? BUTALA'S?"

"Pull in over there, Derek. We both need to get ourselves drinkies…and I think the need is urgent."

"Drinkies," he smiled. "Okay. Whatever you say."

Derek parked the car. With a rumble, he turned off the motor, and he and Nova got out.

When they went into the bar, the XKE pulled up behind them and took the space to the rear.

The window opened, and the dark-haired stranger took out a small instrument with one hand, and a walkie-talkie with the other.

Looking at the instrument, she murmured into the walkie-talkie, "Chief, this is Black Russian. _DA,_ I'm here. I'm picking up bertholds from that bar like you wouldn't believe, and two kids following our quarry. Why? I do not know. Their car. Mustang. 1966 model. Terminal says it's recently transferred. Local database…can't run Washington from here…too many mountains. _DA_, just like Sverdslosk. Picking up emissions from the car, too. I think our target in Tamaqua did something to it. Can you reach London? If Junkman's mixed up in this…I'll think we'll need some more professional scientific advice than Washington can give us. No. We don't need Tokyo, thank you. No giant monsters here, _yet_…anyvay. Stewart should be able to do it…him, and his wacky advisor, that is. Yes, _him._ The grinning curly-haired nut. In the meantime…I'd better see what our friend from Planet X is up to. Over and out, Nigel. And don't say we need ze men in black. Ve are the men in black here._ Vasidanya!!!"_

* * *

II. IN THE SCOTCH OF ST. JAMES  
**The Scotch of St. James**  
**Downtown London**  
**Great Britain**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**5:02 AM, Local Time**

"Gents, last call's long over with," said a pubman dressed up in a coachman's garb. "Would you just like to talk?"

He knew his call would be in vain in the smoke-filled basement club, which would be clearing out around sunrise. The employee also guessed, from the sound of the talk, that the clientele had long since gone beyond the need for mere drinks and were instead enjoying stranger and more dubious means of relaxation. But, he wasn't afraid of a raid. With two or three Stones around (as in the Rolling kind), it was one thing, but word had gotten to him that in the general mass of the "in" crowd here in London, the presence of even one Beatle still served as a magic talisman against a drug raid. And he knew that at least three of them had been here tonight.

"What our friend from Planet X is up to?" asked someone in a mod suit with Nehru jacket standing in an outdoor phone booth that had inexplicably been installed inside the club. "Mitzi, don't be absurd. He can't_ be _from Planet X. What sort of intelligence do you have in that little burg in Pennsylvania, USA anyhow?"

"Pardon me, sir," asked a man in a dark suit who sidled up beside Nigel, his face obscured by a strobe light as the live sounds of Jimi Hendrix blasted across the club. "Got a light? My cigarette is out."

"Sure. Mitzi, hold it, would you?"

"Wife's givin' you trouble?" asked the stranger.

"You could say that. Here, keep the matchbook…don't need it."

"Thanks. Reminds me o' my wife, she gives me this sort of thing all night long."

"What do you MEAN, over and out?" yelled Nigel into the phone as, unknown to him, Senator Robert Cameron himself turned his back on him after lighting up his ciggie. "Miss, we _are_ professionals, or shall I send the real men in black there…?"

"Is 'e a friend of yours?" asked Lennon as he sat back down with the man he had been playing chess with.

"A vague professional acquaintance. I've had many of them throughout my life," said Cameron's tablemate. He was an eccentric fellow, dressed in a long tweed overcoat, white shirt, dark tweed slacks, and high boots, with a barely visible overlong scarf draped over his neck and interlaced like a serpent through the back of the high chair he sat in. "It's your move, Bobby."

"So? I can take as long as I like, can't I? No time limit?"

"No. I don't believe we set a definite time limit to this game. Your rook."

"Ah, wonderful. Needed a break from the campaign; that's why I'm here in England with Victoria. She wanted to see the Beatles at their press conference prior to their live show. Luckily, I was able to arrange it."

"I have something serious to tell you, Senator."

"What?"

"There's danger."

"Are you in danger?"

"No. You're in one in danger, I believe."

"From who?"

"I'd rather not say here."

"I'm not putting State Security into this. I don't care that Uncle Jack was killed in that bubbletop in Dallas and Uncle Bobby died in a suspicious accident. I'm the holder of the family torch, and I have to mix with the young and get elected President."

"Mate, it's time we were leaving," yawned Cameron's press agent as he came up behind his friend. "I mean, normally I wouldn't give a darn, but we've got that rehearsal of the declaration of your candidacy tomorrow, that press thing Saturday, and the appearance on TV Sunday after we watch the Beatles live. Do you want the world to see you with bags under your eyes on live TV, Senator?"

After Senator Cameron and his entourage were out the door, Nigel sat down with the stranger, who was fiddling with a floppy suede hat that had been in his lap. "Listen," he hissed. "I don't care how brilliant you are…UNIT does NOT want you getting too close to our surveillance subjects."

"And who made up that regulation?"

"It's been in the regs for a long time, Smith. A LONG time."

"I'm not an operative. I'm an advisor, remember? Any time they think that there's aliens involved I'm called."

"ALIENS!" spluttered Nigel. "You're out and out talking about aliens?"

"Won't be noticed here. Many people here _think_ they're _on_ another planet," joshed Nigel's associate as Jimi ended his set and the first chords of Donovan's "_Atlantis" _resounded under the spoken words, "_And there were the twelve…the poet…the physician…"_

"I say…you can't be so….."

"Silly?" asked the stranger.

"Addled. As you've been acting all night."

"It's a common strategic move to guess the intentions of one you're to arrange security for by seeing how he plays at parlour games. Especially when we know there's some cyborg after him.

I've got my suspicions to who it is…they could be wrong, though."

"Would you stop…?"

"Any one of five different races…all nasty."

"I say…would you please…"

"Oh, come off it, Nigel," smiled the stranger, showing a large, disarming toothy grin. "Or if you won't, then take two jelly babies and call me in the morning, would you?" said the stranger, tossing two jelly babies on the chessboard from a pocket. "Got a long tramp to go to get back home. Need rest for a bit…and contemplation."

"I say…behave like an adult…Do…"

"Shhhh, musn't tip off the locals. Long walk to I. M. Forman's junkyard, where I'm staying now. Been there before, and the last time I was there wasn't too wonderful, either. I've a bad feeling about this, but I think we'll get through if we don't lose our nerve. Get home to the wife, Nigel. Good night. Enjoy your jelly babies. And…,yes…say tallyho to the Brigadier for me, would you?"

At that, the stranger whipped his long scarf about him and went out into the late-night fog, putting his hat on his curly pate as an afterthought of sorts.

"My God, I _do_ believe our scientific advisor is barmy," muttered Nigel.

* * *

Here ends Part Three of _Fixing a Hole_


	4. Act Four

**ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE**

**STAR BLAZERS**  
**FIXING A HOLE**

**Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT**  
**By****: Frederick P. Kopetz**

Thanks to my reviwers for some suggestions upon which I acted to add a little angst at the beginning of the tale with our favorite couple. (GoldAngel...this means you :-)) Now, on with the story....

* * *

**ACT FOUR-HAPPINESS IS A WARM GUN**

* * *

**I.KICK OUT THE JAMS...LET'S GO...**  
**Butala's Bar  
Kennedy Drive and Grant Street  
McAdoo, PA**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**12:13 AM, Local Time**

Derek Wildstar had just ordered a beer in Butala's Bar in McAdoo.

_What a dump,_ he thought as he looked around the establishment. There was a long, Formica-topped bar, many stools, a group of nasty-looking characters, several neon signs, several tables, a jukebox playing "_Please Release Me_" by Englebert Humperdinck and other such songs by the likes of Perry Como and Frank Sinatra, a twi-night doubleheader away stand with the Phillies playing San Francisco out on the Coast flickering on the TV above the bar, lots of cigarette smoke, a weird-looking person sitting by himself at a table, and, to Nova's chagrin (as she concentrated on her Grasshopper), the girl from the car, or someone who looked just like her, was leaning against a wall near a pay phone.

Nova had some ideas as to her profession...none of them savory. She noticed that the Girl did have a Russian accent, and seemed to be dressed in a black leather catsuit and boots that were so tight that they made her own Star Force uniform seem like a bag by comparison...and Nova thought that this was quite an idea. Somehow, the idea of finding the whereabouts of an alien trooper in this place seemed almost laughable.

"Derek, this is mad," she said.

"What's mad?"

"You know what's mad," said Nova. "And, by the way, thanks a lot for looking at her."

"Who?"

"_Her_, Derek," whispered Nova in a low, angry voice. "That woman over there."

"Her? Oh, I wasn't looking..."

"You were so."

"Well, not the way I look at you," said Derek. "I'm sorry. It's just...that outfit..."

"I'll buy a black catsuit when we get home and make you look at me in it," said Nova morosely. "Anyway, we'd better remember our business."

"Business...I don't know what'll happen here..."

"Me neither," said Nova. Then, she thought, _What in God's name are we doing here...in this smoke-filled dive?_ She was almost, almost but not quite, tempted to bum a cigarette from someone so she could light up...in self-defense only, of course. It was hard to breathe in the bar, since the smoke was quite overpowering.

Nova turned her head in the other direction. A chill went up her back as she spotted an individual sitting all alone at a side table. Nova got a look at him and forgot all about bumming a ciggie. He was bald, had what seemed to be a very pallid, almost greenish complexion, and was wearing very faded denims. The chill turned into a shiver as she noticed the stranger beckoning to her with one finger.

Nova got up. "Derek, that stranger's calling me. He might be the person we want...I'd better check this out." At that news, Derek looked a little alarmed.

"You're not going over there alone, Nova," replied Derek.

"Why not? I'd like to see what he wants."

"I've got a bad feeling about him...I'm coming with you."

"To look at her?"

"No, to be with _you_, damnit."

"Derek, I..."

"Nova, let's stick to our mission..."

"Of course," she said.

The stranger got up and began walking towards them. "_Good evening, my friends_," he whispered in sepulchral tones. "Did you know I've been expecting you?"

"No, I didn't," said Wildstar.

"You might be pleased to know that I have a most pleasant surprise awaiting you; namely your own set of accommodations. A honeymoon suite, as it were."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Nova, who didn't notice the woman in black putting her hands up, as if to say "_stop that_!"

"It's most simple," whispered the stranger. "You shall have your own quarters, aboard my flagship. There, in a few short hours, you shall witness the suitable end I have prepared for your comrades, as well as a television feed to the death of one Senator. Cameron on live TV. Then, you shall have plenty of time to witness riots, devastation, and perhaps the Third World War in due time? Or should I simply have my comrades open fire on this defenseless ball of mud, hmm? Or would you care to see what I can do to you, first?" asked the stranger as he began to reach under the table for something. "Maybe I'll disintegrate you; or maybe you'll just be stunned..."stoned," as it were?"

"Listen," snapped Derek. "If you think you're going to get away with that..." he said as he reached for his camera bag.

Before he could open it, though, he felt a hand grabbing his arm from behind.

"Hey!" he protested. "What the...?"

"Hey, buddy," snapped a rough male voice behind him. "We're here to watch a ball game, not hear some damn hippie argument about drugs or _Star Trek_ or Buck Rogers."

"Get your hands off me!" snapped Wildstar in his most imperious command voice. However, the short-haired local in a green t-shirt only laughed, followed by a sarcastic chuckle from a friend of his in a dark red work shirt.

"Listen, Mike and I both think you stinkin' hippies, all three a' ya, have had your way up here long enough Want me to break your limp little wrist, sissy boy with the long hair?"

"Righto! Ya'd better friggin' listen to Bernie, ya damn weirdo," said Bernie's friend in the red shirt.

Bernie added, "Scram, and go back to Hazleton or Philly or wherever the hell ya came from! And, by the way, take yer hooker there and your strung-out friend with cha...eh?"

Captain Wildstar had had enough. He shook his head and grabbed Bernie by the wrist. "Listen, you...my..._beloved_...is not a lady of the night!"

_Thank you, Derek,_ thought Nova.

"Aaaa, shaddap, ya college boy freak! Get outta here and help your _beloved_ walk the street up in Hazleton." snapped Bernie. A millisecond later, Derek had Bernie's glass of beer thrown in his face.

Derek bared his teeth in a snarl and slugged Bernie with a hard right directly in his mouth. "That should teach you to speak to a lady properly. Now, you apologize to Nova right now or else you'll regret it!"

"Derek..." said Nova with bated breath. "Be careful...we don't need a fistfight over this; not here, you made your point, and I love you for it...let's go..."

"SHADDAP, ya stupid dame! As for you, you longhaired girl-man, I'll give you a friggin' apology, ya foreigner!" roared Bernie. Then, the workingman shot a rabbit punch at the back of Derek's neck and then grabbed the Captain from behind.

"STOP it, you drunk!" cried Nova. She swung around to throw off Bernie, but the stranger in blue denim with long hair viciously knocked aside the table and his drink, shoved aside Nova, and got to the man first after kicking aside Mike. The stranger grabbed Bernie's shoulders and viciously threw him right through the bar's front plate-glass window!

Bernie hit the pavement head-first, with a loud snap coming from his broken neck. He was dead about ten seconds later.

"Holy...?" yelled a third man who looked a lot like the man who had gone through the window. "Hey, Mike! Ya see what the hell that bald freak did to Bernie?"

Mike struggled off the floor. "Yeah, I did, Frank. And that damn blond hippie broad in the pedal-pushers there knocked me on the floor! She wants to fight like a man, we'll kick her ass like a man, right?"

"Yeah!" said Frank. "Stand aside, ya bald freak! The hippie broad is MINE!"

"I'm sorry...Bernie's dead now," said the stranger in a mellow voice. "Oh, Derek," he said to Wildstar. "As we shall be allies for the next two minutes, permit me to introduce myself. Shardovan Gralnacz is my name, and, as you suspected, I am your enemy, but we are allies for the nonce. If you wonder why I said we are allies, notice the ring of men gathering around you and Nova. If you wish for our...personal dispute... to continue, we had best cooperate for the moment."

Before Derek or Nova could respond to their enemy, Mike tried to knock Nova down with a bar stool. She caught the stool with her foot and kicked back, knocking both stool and Mike on the floor.

Frank then caught Derek Wildstar in a headlock. Captain Wildstar responded by grabbing his arm and flipping him onto the bar on top of several glasses. Before Derek could protest, Gralnacz put a hand on Frank's balding head. He screamed and fell limp with blood running from his nose and mouth; the stream of blood ran all the way down to his flannel work-shirt clad beer belly. Mercifully, he was dead about two seconds later with smoke trailing up from one ear.

Gralnacz was then rushed by two more men, presumably friends of Frank, Mike, and Bernie. He bashed both of them into each other, but Derek grabbed one and punched him and Nova grabbed the other and threw him against the wall in order to keep their alien "ally" from killing them, too.

Gralnacz did not like that. He grabbed at Nova in the melee while pulling out his weapon, hoping in a rage to send her to the same sort of nasty, quick death to which he had sent Bernie and Frank, but before he could get a hand on her, Nova tripped him up. He fired, his beam going wide into the mirror behind the bar. Several people screamed.

Derek responded by getting his alien weapon out. Snapping it open as someone screamed, "_NO! Cut the ray-gun crap_!" he fired at Gralnacz. The yellowish-green beam hit the Technomugar commander, leaving him somewhat stunned, but not stunned enough to keep him from bringing his own weapon back up and firing at Derek.

"DEREK!" screamed Nova as her husband ducked under a bar stool for cover. Snarling, she opened her purse and drew her own astro-automatic. She fired at Gralnacz, hitting him in the hand.

The alien roared with rage, but before he could react, the woman in the black catsuit grabbed Nova away by the hand and also pulled Derek away by the bottom of his t-shirt.

"What are you doing?" demanded Nova. "We've almost GOT him!"

"Your course of action is most unwise," snapped the woman in a Russian accent. "You should NOT finish this here with those sort of weapons! Follow me!"

"Why? He started firing at US!! _He's _the maniac we've got to stop!" demanded Derek as, a moment later, he noticed a flashing red light in the distance through the broken window.

"This would be most difficult to explain to the authorities...trust me!" snapped the woman. "I am truly on your side. Get into your car and follow me!"

She half dragged them out the side door just as Derek heard a siren. Getting the idea, he and Nova ran for their car and got it started quite quickly. The woman got into her Jaguar and took off west down the side street a second later.

Taking the lead, Derek followed her. They went down the street about two blocks, followed her as she took a right with tires screeching, and roared down another side street. They took another right, noticing vaguely that the steeples of a Russian-domed church were off in the distance. At the first light they took a hard left, and, back on PA 309, they roared north, with Derek noticing that the police lights in his rear view mirror were still...and not coming after them as he would have expected.

_I guess the police are investigating the incident in the bar, _he thought. _If we're careful, we just might get out of this little town. But where would we go? Thanks to Gralnacz and his trigger-happy behavior, we're surely wanted all over the State now...or soon will be. What lousy damn luck! And who is the Russian girl, and what does she want with us? What the hell have Nova and I **gotten **ourselves into?_

* * *

**II.VENTURE LANDS IN A STEW**  
**Space: Between the Earth and the Moon  
Space Battleship _Argo_  
First Bridge**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**1:02 AM, Local Shipboard Time**

* * *

"Okay?" demanded Sandor. "You saw _what_, Hardy?" 

"I saw Nova and the Captain, just a few minutes ago...in civilian clothes, in the lower fighter bay. They just...appeared out of nowhere, sitting in an old blue car from the 20th Century, and before we could talk, they disappeared again."

"Dr. Sane, are you sure that you didn't give Hardy any of your concoctions?" asked Venture.

"No...he was on watch. I was asleep with Mimi."

"He's right," chirped IQ-9.

"How do you know that?" countered Homer.

"What do you think Doctor Sane is doing in a kimono and _geta_ sandals?" countered IQ-9, pointing out Sane's sleepwear and wooden shoes. "Most crew members do not dress like that on duty aboard this ship...especially not Doctor Sane. If I may make an observation, though, Nova would look better dressed that way than you do, Doctor."

"I don't appreciate that," huffed Doctor Sane.

"So?" said Homer.

"Listen," said Venture. "We've got to pull together on this. What proof do we have that Derek and Nova were seen in the fighter bay?"

"Sir, I'm not lying," countered Hardy.

"No one is saying you are, Hardy. We just need hard evidence."

"And I've got it," said Sandor as he sat bolt upright and slapped his console. "It's right here! Plus, I know how we can trace them on Earth, now...using our current equipment."

"How?" asked Venture.

"Beta-Neutrino traces," said Sandor with an air of authority.

"Beta-Neutrino traces?" said Homer. "That's just comm static...and..."

"Not at this particular wavelength," countered Sandor. "By way of explanation, any human body, when it passes through a space warp, leaves a trail of Beta-Neutrinos that can be traced for about forty-eight hours as the charge about the body slowly decays, somewhat like Carbon-14, but with a much shorter half-life. Such a trail can only be picked up in the fourth dimension. Using one of my sensor arrays, I just detected fresh Beta-Neutrino traces in the lower fighter bay. All of us have been giving them off since the _Argo_ warped back through time to this point, but I thought they were just an interesting side effect of space travel. I could never use them to trace enemy vessels since the Gamilons' and Cometines' ships all warp at a different sort of subspace amplitude as compared with the _Argo_. Their traces were always undetectable. But I can trace ours, and by turning our sensors toward Earth, even though we're behind the Moon, I can trace where on Earth the only two persons I know of on 20th Century Earth that warped recently on this ship would be...for about 36 hours, that is. And the only two people on Earth that could have warped aboard this particular ship recently are Nova and the Captain. With a sensor scan, I can more or less detect where they are."

"What do we do when we find out where they are?" asked Venture.

"Send Hemsford or Rosstowski down to Earth's surface in a jet recon boat with a portable sensor, somewhat like the energy indicator I made to trace the location of the main reactor on the Comet Empire City. I could easily devise a means by which such a ship could evade 20th Century Earth's radar and infrared sensors for a time with electronic countermeasures...and we can count ourselves fortunate that in the 1960's, such arts were still in their infancy. Had we arrived in even the late 1970's, say, the radar units and satellites in wide use by most countries a short time later would have been much harder to beat, even with our level of technology," said Sandor. "We'd better act quickly. Our window of opportunity is shrinking. It would take Royster and I a half day to get the needed equipment together, and as of now, we have about two days to repair the ship and attempt a warp back home, or be forever trapped here. When we're done, in the morning, the troopers we'll need will have only a day and a half left to find the Captain and Lieutenant, so we'd..."

Suddenly, the main radar began to go off. Lieutenant Todd Voorhees, who was manning the cosmo-radar in Nova's place, said, "Two objects approaching fast at twenty-two relative space knots. Distance, 200 megameters. Switching to video panel now."

Venture's heart sank as soon as he recognized what was approaching. "DAMN! It's the enemy space fortresses we were fighting when we went through that disturbance and came here! _Dash! _Since our main guns can't hit them, maybe missiles will hurt them! Fire a spread of bow missiles at the upper towers on the first ship...now."

"But should _we_ be firing first?" asked Sandor.

A second later, one of the fortresses fired at the _Argo, _which was left smoking from a hit on the starboard side.

"Moot point, Sandor." said Venture. "Dash, prepare to fire."

"Bow torpedoes, FIRE!" he snapped.

The_ Argo_ fired. They were pleased when the missiles struck home and left a few towers smoking on one of the space fortresses. However, the other one responded with a second plasma-energy barrage that blew several holes in the _Argo's_ main deck as it roared in and caused a fair amount of damage to the #1 forward main gun turret.

"We can't take this sort of damage!" said Sandor. "We're still trying to repair damage from the last battle!"

Venture closed his eyes and fiercely punched his own thighs. _Derek, now I know how you always felt in this kind of a spot,_ he thought. _There's just one thing to do. They might detect this down there on Earth, but we have no choice. We have to survive...for** our** Earth_.

"Turning ship, fifty degrees starboard!" he said as he worked the helm and turned towards the enemy. Facing them, he said, "Orion, stop all engines."

"Aye," he said. "Stop all engines."

"Dr. Sane, sit down there at the Analysis post," said Venture. "Dash, begin making preparations to fire the wave motion gun! We've got just one chance to stop them, and with that dense armor, our main guns just can't do it."

"You got that right," nodded Dash.

In the meantime, on the enemy fortresses, the destruction of the Star Force was being plotted with cold, calm calculation.

"So what do you say you're doing, Lord Protector?" asked Technomugar Captain Varenz, the commander of the space fortress _Saruger_, the sister ship of the _Sukalnach_, the command Goraizu Fortress of Gralnacz. At the moment, Varenz was looking at Gralnacz as a small holographic image on a table near his command seat on the _Saruger's_ vast round bridge. His superior, thanks to enhancement in his cyborg body courtesy of Ekogaru, sent his thoughts and image to the machine by psionic thought waves. "You're out of uniform, you look rather unhappy..."

"I _am_ unhappy. I have the local police after me. What fools."

"Where are you, my Lord?" whispered Varenz's voice in Gralnacz's mind.

"Hiding in an alley in McAdoo, Pennsylvania, you idiot!"

"Could you not overpower the police, Lord?"

"I could, but it would put my access to Senator Cameron in jeopardy. I must make myself scarce for a time."

Why not return to_ Sukalnach_? Surely they will allow you to rest there, Lordship. Also, be fortunate that Lord Ekogaru currently has no knowledge of this operation."

"Yes, we are fortunate. If Ekogaru found out...have you ever been lashed by the Dark Lord, Varenz?"

"No, Lord Protector. I have not. Do they not say the Dark Lord can strike one dead with a glance?"

"He can. And he has given _me_ this power, but I am at bay. As for you?"

"We have the _Argo_ at heel right now. I could destroy her if you like, but shall we toy with her for a time, to give you the victory?"

"Yes, toy with her. Let me gather my wits about me before I teleport back to the _Sukalnach_. Oh, what are you doing?"

"Toying with the _Argo_. She's stopped for some reason, and..."

"She's stopped? Is she facing you?"

"Yes...but..."

"Well, then, listen to me carefully. You had best do this..."

* * *

"Ten seconds to firing," said Dash through his firing goggles aboard the_ Argo_ over the maddened whine of the wave motion gun "Ten, nine...eight...seven, six...five..." 

_Here we go...this is it,_ thought Venture...

* * *

_"You _want the _Sukalnach_ and myself to flee? _Emergency warp?_" said Varenz. 

"Yes...now," hissed Gralnacz. "I'll teleport back in a moment," he huffed as he hid behind a garbage can in his alley. "At least make sure _Sukalnach_ gets out of there!"

"_Sukalnach,_ leave," said Varenz. "But why?" he asked as the other fortress pulled away. "All they're doing is shining a bright spotlight at us; our bridge windows can accommodate it. Why the panic?"

"Have you ever heard of a wave motion gun before?" said Gralnacz as he sank into a fetal position behind the garbage can.

"No, I can't say I have..."

* * *

"Two...one...zero," said Dash. 

Venture looked at Dash through his goggles and snapped, "FIRE!"

"FIRE!" said Dash as his finger came down on the trigger.

A beam of actinic blue light roared out towards the _Saruger _a mere moment later even as the red plasma residue from the fortress' last barrage still skipped around the _Argo._

Varenz and his 2,000 officers and men perished in a ball of flame that blinked near the edge of the Moon like a nova for a moment and then faded.

The _Sukalnach_ just barely escaped the holocaust, warping out to the vicinity of Mars a moment after an exhausted Gralnacz appeared on the vessel's bridge. His executive officer noticed that even he was puffing with exertion as he leaned against one of the decorative marble-clad pillars on the ornate yet ominous-looking bridge of the enemy dreadnought.

"High Protector Gralnacz, are you...?"

"I'm fine, you idiot!" he hissed as the fading hum of the warp still resounded across the _Sukalnach's_ bridge. Looking very un-regal and unimposing as he slid down onto the carpeted deck, he said, "My friend, is Varenz?"

"He is, sir. Dead. I'm sure he passed straight to Lord Ekogaru's bosom as a warrior. Should we not end this? Take care of the _Argo_ in their own time, after returning to it? Surely Ekogaru is awaiting us."

"Half my forces are lost...but I shall NOT give this up!" screamed Gralnacz, filled with a bit of his Master's insane fury. My plan shall work! I will erase Earth's history! We ARE the Gods of the New Order! And no mere Earth space battleship shall stop us. We shall go in, attack..."

"We shall not, sir. We suffered...electrical damage. All that wild tachyon energy, I guess. Electrical burnouts all over the place...without a shield like that on Lord Ekogaru's Grand Technomugar Fortress, we are vulnerable even to a near-miss from that accursed weapon. Who gave the Terrans such a weapon?"

"The legendary planet Iscandar, you fool...and if I ever find that planet, they shall SUFFER for this humiliation wrought upon us today. But, no more. I have work to do. Leave me!"

"Yessir," said the executive officer as Gralnacz struggled to his feet and walked off, looking unexpectedly tired and defeated.

* * *

"Yeah, we DID it!" said Dash as he flung off his goggles. "Venture, we sure kicked_ them_ where it hurt!" 

"Yes, we did," said Venture. "I think we finally succeeded in sending that enemy force back to its Maker."

"You're wrong, Mark," said Parsons from the tactical radar. "Voorhees and I noticed the other fortress warping out just as the tachyon surge hit the first one."

Venture responded by slamming his fists against his console in frustration.

"What's worse, we took more damage thanks to that last enemy hit and the recoil shock from the wave motion gun," said Sandor. "Some of the main engine's control circuits burned out all over again, Venture. We're in a hot stew...again."

"It can't be that bad...can it?" asked Venture with pleading eyes.

"The warp mechanism took some minor damage along with the power circuit. Oh, we can fix it...but we just added six hours of work to the recalibration job. Therefore, as of now, our window is now down to one and a half days...starting six or seven hours after we fix those circuits. And until we fix them, we can't scan for Derek and Nova, either."

"Why not?"

"Too much risk of a burnout we can't fix, Venture," said Sandor. "I don't argue with what you had to do. You had to save the ship...Wildstar would understand that. But we can't fire the wave motion gun again and still expect to warp home to the 23rd century."

"Yeah, but at least we're free of the enemy for a while," said Venture.

"That sounds good, sir." said Rosstowski from his post. "Except for one thing."

"Yes?" said Sandor in reply as Mark sat in thought.

"Namely, Sandor, what if they come back with the other fortress?" he asked.

Sandor had no answer for that one. He just stared into space in silence.

"Look on the bright side, Venture," said Dr. Sane.

"Is there a bright side, Doc?"

"There is. If the phase of the moon was right and Derek and Nova were looking up down there on the Earth, we just sent them a nice beacon to let them know we're here."

"Yeah, Doc. We also just told every Earth Government on the planet that _we're_ here, too," said Venture.

"We'd better be sure we're back behind the moon," said Sandor. "When I get my sensors repaired, I can pick up those neutrinos through the moon. And behind the moon, we're safe from prying eyes...and missiles...for the most part."

Far off, in the distance, even though it was not mapping the area at the time, a US Lunar Surveyor satellite passed far over the _Argo_. Holly Parsons watched it, stating, "We have a radar satellite over us. A primitive space probe...one of the nations must be mapping the Moon with it. Luckily, its radar is not picking us up...yet..."

"Yet?" said Venture. "That doesn't sound too promising. Will it be back?"

"Yes...it'll be back over here in forty-one hours, by my reckoning, Mark. And at that time, it'll probably spot us, since it will be coming in closer."

"That cuts us down to thirty-five hours," said Sandor softly. "One day and nine hours left to go. If the Captain and Nova aren't back with us by then...we will have to leave them on 20th Century Earth...forever."

* * *

**III. A CHASE**  
**Pennsylvania Route 309**  
**Between McAdoo and Audenreid, PA**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**1:25 AM, Local Time**

* * *

"Where are we, Derek?" asked Nova as she and Derek drove on, hoping the police hadn't spotted them. 

"We're heading north, that's all I know," he said as the Mustang sped on. "I see a glow in the sky ahead of us over that ridge...must mean there's another town nearby."

"Derek, look at the moon," said Nova.

"I can't do it for long...I'm driving, " replied Wildstar. "I..._whoa!_" he said, slowing down about 5 MPH from 50. "Look at that bright blue light...and that star near the moon's edge."

"Wave motion gun?" asked Nova quietly.

Derek nodded. "Looks like Mark just took out some enemies...at least now we know where the _Argo_ is..."

"And so does everyone else..."

Derek Wildstar nodded, and then his heart went cold. In his rear view mirror, he had just spotted a flashing red light.

He pulled over, hoping that maybe the police cruiser would just pass. It didn't. It came to a stop behind them, with someone saying authoritatively over the 1966 Chrysler Imperial's roof-mounted bullhorn. "_MUSTANG, PULL OVER! NOW! REMAIN IN YOUR VEHICLE AND PUT YOUR HANDS UP ON THAT DAMNED DASHBOARD WHERE I CAN SEE THEM! BOTH OF YOU!! NOW!!!"_

Derek and Nova obeyed as a tall policeman shining a bright flashlight approached.

"Son, your license, registration, and insurance card, please," said the police officer as he banged on the window with his flashlight. "And keep those hands on the dashboard when you're done."

Derek complied, turning over the papers Melvin had given them, hoping beyond hope that they wouldn't be found out.

"Hmm...looks OK," said the policeman. "I'm Officer McGannon, Hazle Township Police Department. Do you know why I pulled you over?"

"No, sir," said Wildstar.

"Because you were going fifteen miles per hour over the posted limit, which is thirty. Also, a car that looks similar to yours was observed near a bar fight back in McAdoo a while ago. Actually, I'd say it was more like a riot. You know anything about that, son?"

"No, sir," said Derek calmly, trying to hide the sweat running down his neck.

"Maybe you don't. You just stay there, hmh? I'll be back shortly with your citation."

Nova looked back, watching the policeman as he went to his cruiser, picked up a radio microphone, and began to read information into it. Behind the cruiser appeared another set of headlights.

"Derek, I think he just called for backup," whispered Nova.

"Looks like the game's up," said Derek. "But, one way or the other, we can't let the Star Force down. "

"We can't fight off two cars' worth of police and make a run for it, Derek!"

"Who says we can't?" grinned Derek. "We fought off Gamilons...we can fight off old-style police officers, and..."

McGannon came back, with another figure appearing behind him in the distance. "Here's your ticket...Mister...Wildstar. But I'm afraid I have some worse news for you. Your license plate number is all over the APB bulletin, and it seems two people matching your descriptions are wanted for assault with deadly weapons in that bar fight. You're going to have to get out of that car and come with me...for questioning, at least. I can tell you your bald-headed hippie friend is wanted for manslaughter, maybe even murder."

Derek and Nova got out of the car, slowly. "Your bags, please. Drop them."

They dropped the bags on the ground. "The little lady, first, please. Then you, son."

Nova, with tears in her eyes, submitted to being handcuffed as Derek began to reach for his bag.

"I wouldn't, Derek," said a Russian-accented voice behind him. "Not if I were you, anyway. And I mean it."

Wildstar then felt a gun barrel in his back. He turned his head, ready to spring, but stood in shock when he found his captor was the Russian girl in the black leather catsuit from the bar.

"It's not as bad as it looks, believe me," she whispered. "I'm on your _side_, Kapitan. Come out."

Derek submitted to being led out by the girl. McGannon stood aghast, even more shocked when another large black Government-issue unmarked sedan pulled up on the wide shoulder of the road near his police car and three men in black suits and sunglasses got out, all holding sidearms.

"Officer, sorry to be unpleasant in the least, but you'll turn your prisoners over to us, please," said the girl.

"Who are you? Who are you with? What's your authority?"

"My name is Mitzi Shavirov, Special Agent, United States Government with S.I.C.A.R.U., and U.S. Special Liaison to U.N.I.T... My credentials, sir," she said, opening up a black wallet with two badges in it.

"What's S.I.C.A.R.U.?" asked McGannon.

"S.I.C.A.R.U. stands for 'Special Internal Control and Reconnaissance Unit,' and U.N.I.T. stands for 'United Nations Intelligence Task Force'," said Shavirov. "The United States Government and the United Nations consider these two individuals and the intelligence that they have in reference to this situation to be very important to both national security and world security. As commander of this local cell of S.I.C.A.R.U., therefore, I am ordering you to turn this investigation and these individuals over to me as representative of the Federal Government. My authority can be confirmed by the local FBI unit if they would refer to the file code named 'Black Russian.' Mister Warren, Mister Yancey, please escort these individuals back to their own vehicle and let Mister Wildstar drive per your direction. I will be following you shortly."

Before McGannon could protest, Derek and Nova were being led towards their own car by two men in black suits wearing dark glasses.

"What sort of people are you?" demanded Derek. "You can't arrest me without a good reason!"

They didn't listen. Warren got into the back seat of the Mustang while keeping a firm arm on Derek, followed by Yancey, who kept a grip on Nova until he sat down. Both Derek and Nova were forced into the Mustang by two more men in black suits, and the doors were closed from the outside.

"Listen, Captain, you're _not_ being arrested," said Warren coldly as soon as the door closed.

"Captain?" said Derek. "I'm...I'm not..."

"Cut the crap," said Yancey. "We know that you're part of some future military force. We were just talking to Seadragon earlier, as well as to Miss Shavirov and to the Scientific Advisor of U. N. I. T. in Britain. In the morning, you'll be meeting with both of them in Washington. If you think you are going to stop Gralnacz in this time, you'll do it _our _way, and then the British Scientific Advisor of U.N. I.T. will cooperate in getting you back to your own time. "

"But..." said Nova.

"Captain, Lieutenant, you are not under arrest, even though we wanted to do so. On the other hand, per Seadragon's request, and per the request of the U.N.I.T. Scientific Advisor, you're being deputized to help us. Help us, and we'll keep your cover and we'll also make sure no one asks too many questions about your space battleship. If you don't cooperate with us, on the other hand, it'll be a lot worse for you. Are you going to cooperate?" asked Warren.

"What choice do we have?" shrugged Derek. "OK; we'll cooperate, if you help us get back to our ship, mister. For your information, sir, we were fighting a battle with Gralnacz for the sake of our Earth before this temporal disturbance so rudely interrupted us."

"We'll do our best; and the Scientific Advisor is far smarter than you think he is," said Yancey. "Now, start her up and drive, Captain. Agents Shavirov, Miyagawa, and Pike will take care of the local police for us."

Nova sat in shock as a Japanese-looking man in a black suit (whom she guessed was 'Miyagawa') waved some sort of a device that looked like a penlight with three tiny multi-colored lights in front of Officer McGannon's face. A bright light went off, and McGannon suddenly looked a good deal more compliant as he shook hands with Miyagawa.

"You understand, then," said Miyagawa. "These two were wanted on Federal drug warrants, but they've just turned State's Evidence to cooperate with us."

"Yes, of course. They're informants."

"You'll give us the traffic ticket, officer. The Federal Government will pay it and take care of it as part of the investigation on the informants' behalf."

"Of course."

"And you'll allow us to contact your desk sergeant back at Headquarters."

"Yes," said McGannon. "Thanks for your help, gentlemen. It's nice to know the Federal Government is helping us keep order here in Luzerne County," said the cop as he shook hands with Miyagawa. Pike nodded and went back to his car, where he spoke on the radio. In the meantime, Wildstar's Mustang pulled away and drove off, followed by Shavirov's Jaguar and one of the black Federal-issue Fords belonging to S.I.C.A.R.U.

Miyagawa breathed a sigh of relief. _Thanks to my neuralizer, _he thought,_ another little hole in normal reality is fixed and filled up. Very soon, with that Wildstar's cooperation, we'll have all of this hole filled up, and they can go on with the Summer of Love, blissfully unaware that another invasion has just been stopped. You know, it's just like that giant monster thing we stopped last month in Okinawa by writing it off as an earthquake. Why do those giant monsters keep on going after Japan? If only they knew what we really did to keep them safe...._

* * *

**IV. A REST**  
**Gus Genetti's Motor Lodge  
Pennsylvania Route 309**  
**Hazleton****, PA**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**2:37 AM, Local Time**

* * *

After a bit of a drive, Derek and Nova met Mitzi Shavirov and their group and paid for a number of rooms at Genetti's Motor Lodge, a large motel in Hazleton near a Holiday Inn. However, Mitzi told them the local establishment had the better food. 

They came to trust Mitzi a little more after they noticed that their weapons were...quietly...returned to them along with two suitcases bearing changes of underwear and that sort of thing.

Fortunately, they could still get food at that late hour. Genetti's featured a nightclub of sorts on its grounds, with a terrible local band playing on a stage behind a large bar, a bar where they were able to get some foods like shrimp cocktails and kielbasa sausage to go with their glasses of beer.

"In the morning," said Mitzi, "After breakfast, we will drive to Philadelphia. From there, we'll get tickets to board a passenger train that'll take us to Washington, D.C. In Washington, we'll keep our appointment with our Advisor, and then arrange for travel to London to finish our errand."

"What about our return to...our errand?" asked Derek.

"Provided we are successful on Saturday, passage will be arranged for you," said Mitzi. "Don't underestimate Seadragon or the Scientific Advisor, if you take our meaning."

"Who is this...Advisor?" asked Nova. "You said he was British, and you speak very highly of him."

"He has a British accent, but I sure don't think he's from England, that's for sure," said Mitzi. "He's somewhat like Seadragon; save that he is sane...I think," she added. "Have you had enough to eat, yet? Feel better?"

"Yes, we do," said Derek. "The food isn't our usual dinner fare, but it's appreciated, particularly because we haven't had anything to eat since evening yesterday."

"Then, let us leave. Your room is Number 545."

"Mitzi, how did you get involved in this?" asked Nova.

"It's a long story," said Mitzi. "It should not be repeated here. Let's go. Barkeep!" she said, plunking a large-denomination bill on the bar. "Keep the change."

Later, in Room 545, Derek and Nova settled down for bed, aware that their wake-up call would be at 10 AM in the morning. (Mitzi had arranged it so that they could sleep.) Still, given the events of the past day, they couldn't help cuddling after they had undressed for bed, and the cuddling had led to a quick, furtive romantic interlude in the darkened motel room that still felt wonderful.

After they were done, Nova lay back in her husband's arms and began to sob softly.

"What's wrong?" asked Derek. 

"I'm scared and tired, that's all," said Nova. "We were just pulled off the _Argo_ by Seadragon and all but drafted to stop Gralnacz. Then, we almost got ourselves killed in that bar, we almost were arrested, and now we're carrying out this mission for some branch of the government as well as for Seadragon...and still pretty much by force."

"Nova, maybe we'll buy ourselves some time back in our time if we can kill Gralnacz here in the past. I was thinking that if we make it back into the battle, and the enemy forces are bereft of their leader, it'll be better. Maybe we can take advantage of the situation to take out that their space fortress and those subs and rescue the liner...or what's left of it...from that enemy attack. Then we can meet Desslok and investigate that strange planet."

"If, if," said Nova. "Derek, I don't doubt that we can pull this off. But what if we don't? What if we have to live and die in this primitive time? I liked reading about this time, but now that I'm really here, I feel sorry for the people who had to live under these horrible conditions with these fossil-burning cars and that sort of thing. I miss our time, Derek. I miss the _Argo_...I miss the rest of the Star Force...and I miss the home we just barely had time to move into after we got married. Will we ever get home, Derek? Will we make it?"

Derek, to his credit, didn't try to answer his wife. All he did was held her warm unclad body close to his as they fell into an uneasy sleep haunted by disturbing dreams.

* * *

**Here ends Part Four of _Fixing a Hole_**  



	5. Act Five

**ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE**

**STAR BLAZERS**

**FIXING A HOLE**

**Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT**

**By: Frederick P. Kopetz**

* * *

**ACT FIVE-A DAY IN THE LIFE**

* * *

**I.TRACINGS**  
**Space: Between the Earth and the Moon**  
**Space Battleship _Argo_**  
**Central Tactics Room**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**8:05 AM, Local Time**

"Good news," said Sandor during yet another staff meeting in the _Argo's _Central Tactics Room. "The warp mechanism and power circuits are repaired, but we still need to work on the recalibration job in order to reset the warp mechanism."

"How far have we gotten on the recalibration work?" asked Venture.

"It's not complete yet," replied Sandor. "We now have the general day and hour in relation to astronomical time. What we're trying to estimate is the time down to minutes and seconds so that we'll be able to make our warp properly."

"How long will that take?" asked Venture.

"There is an eighty-two percent chance we'll have the timing calculated to within plus of minus five percent accuracy within twenty-four hours," said IQ-9. "There is a ninety-one percent chance that we'll have the timing calculated to within plus or minus seven percent accuracy in the same time."

"What do those accuracy figures mean?" asked Parsons.

"Even at our best, there is still a chance we will not arrive at precisely the right moment in our time," replied IQ-9. "We may arrive a few minutes or hours off in the past or the future, or a few days or even a few months."

"A few months?" asked Venture.

"Yes. We might even meet ourselves returning home from Iscandar," said IQ-9.

"What would happen then?" asked Dash.

"What would happen in that event is unknown," said IQ-9. "We might explode."

Venture stood in angry silence. "That's the best we can do, Sandor?" he asked.

Sandor just nodded. "It could have been far worse, without the help of Royster and the rest of my Group. I do have some good news to share, though."

"Yes?"

"Right after we finished, we began scanning for the Captain and Lieutenant Wildstar with a beta-neutrino scanner which I adapted from the Time Radar. We've located them."

"Where are they?" asked Venture as the briefing room was filled with hubbub.

"They're right here," said Sandor as a graphic came up. "Northeastern Pennsylvania, in the United States. They've been in this location, near this mountain range, for several hours now; most likely sleeping."

"We've also created two portable versions of the beta-neutrino scanning apparatus we used to find them," said Royster. "We're placing one in a Starseeker jet recon boat, and the other one is being built into a hand-held unit. We've also tuned the electronic countermeasure packet in the jet recon boat so that it will provide a crew with a measure of protection to get in there, rescue the Captain and Nova, and get them back to the ship."

"All we have to determine is who would go down to Earth to pick them up," said Sandor. "They should be dressed in late twentieth-century clothing so that they could blend in with the populace and not be noticed."

"I think our most logical choices would be Ensign Hemsford of the Marine Group and one fighter pilot who could get in there quickly and get out," said Venture.

Hemsford walked up. "Sir, with all respect, that may not be such a good idea...at least with regard to my presence."

"Why not?" asked Venture.

"In the United States in that period, my people were part of a despised minority based upon racist beliefs that were still very strong in the 1960's," said Hemsford quietly with the room lights gleaming off his dark chocolate-brown bald pate. "In the earlier part of that decade, there were still some areas of the country where I couldn't be served lunch at a counter, let alone pass as part of the ordinary populace. Given the suspicion that my people were regarded with then, if you want someone who'd "blend in" as Commander Sandor has suggested, I wouldn't be your man."

"Thanks for the observation," said Venture.

"No problem," said Hemsford, with a hint of anger. "I'm not angry at you, sir," he added. "Just the situation. From a historical analysis, sending me into that time to act undercover in a time when they had race riots would make about as much sense as sending in a damn Orthodox rabbi to spy on Hitler."

"Then we'd need another volunteer," said Orion.

Paul Rosstowski strode forward. "Deputy Captain, I'd like to be considered."

"May I ask why?" said Venture.

"According to my family history, many of my ancestors came from that part of Pennsylvania," said Rosstowski. "I'd be a perfect choice, and I remember something of the region, as my family used to take me there when I was a child."

"That sounds logical," said Sandor. "Venture?"

"I hate losing you on the bridge in case that enemy fortress comes back," said Venture. "But, since you know the area, I guess you're the best choice. You're in, Rosstowski."

"Thank you, sir," said Paul.

"Now, all we need is a pilot," said Sandor.

Quite a few Black Tiger pilots, including Conroy and Hardy, were in the briefing room. However, to everyone's surprise, Bryan Hartcliffe strode forward.

"_You're_ volunteering?" asked Venture.

"Yessir, I _am,_" said Hartcliffe.

"Sir, with all respect, he'd fit in worse in that time than _I _would," said Hemsford.

"Why's that, Ensign?" said Hartcliffe.

"How many English people were running around in the United States then, for one thing? And how were the so-called hippies regarded? They'd think he was a damn radical," said Hemsford.

"Not that many," said Sandor. "It doesn't seem like a good idea...," he added.

"But, sir, I've studied the 1960's, probably more than anyone on this ship," retorted Hartcliffe.

"I never knew you were a student of history, Mister Hartcliffe," said Venture dubiously.

"But I am, sir. I studied every one of the rock bands of the period. The Beatles, the Who, the Jefferson Airplane, the Monkees, the Absolute Spinach, man. And there were exchange students from England runnin' around during the period, as well as musicians. And I'm about the best pilot for the job."

"Yeah, if we need a kamikaze pilot," jibed Rosstowski.

Venture put up his hand for silence. "That's _enough,_ Rosstowski! Sandor, from what I've seen of the period, there were a lot of...disaffected youth, then. What were they called?"

"Hippies, as Mister Hemsford has said." said IQ-9. "Very astute observation for a Space Marine. Mister Hartcliffe certainly looks the part, Deputy Captain! Look at his mustache, his glasses, his long, stringy hair....he..."

"All right, he's_ in_," said Venture. "Sandor, do you think we need any other volunteers?"

"No. The smaller the party, the better. Besides, if this comes off the way we hope it will, the Starseeker, or Astro Mallard, boat will be going down to Earth's surface with two aboard, and will return to the ship a few hours later with four aboard."

"What do you think the Captain and Mrs. Wildstar might be doing now?" asked Rosstowski.

"Well, neither of them had any 20th century money," said Homer.

"But how did they get that automobile?" said Sandor. "And the weird clothing they were seen in by Hardy and by our sensors when they appeared in the lower hangar bay?"

"Maybe they had help of some sort?" shrugged Venture.

"Sounds like as good of a possibility as anythin' else we've considered," said Hardy. "Didn't they disappear off the ship and reappear, after all, like I said?"

"Yes, the sensors did prove you to be right," said Sandor.

"So, what do you think they're doing?" asked Orion.

"Probably sleeping in that car and trying to keep a low profile," guessed Venture. "I know that's what_ I'd_ be doing in that sort of situation..."

* * *

**II. PREPARING FOR A JOURNEY**  
**Gus Genetti's Motor Lodge  
Pennsylvania Route 309**  
**Hazleton****, PA**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**10:05 AM, Local Time**

Derek Wildstar slowly woke up, yawning and stretching as he pulled himself out of bed in the motel room he was sharing with Nova.

One thing he discovered at once was that he was alone; Nova was nowhere to be seen in the bedroom, even though her side of the bed was rumpled (_quite rumpled_, he thought, remembering the previous night with a small smile) and obviously slept-in.

He got up, throwing a nearby towel around his midsection, and noticed a small piece of paper on the writing desk next to a Bible, which he noticed had been placed by someone known as "The Gideons" if the gold stamped legend on the front of the Good Book was correct, that is.

It was a sheet of Genetti's Motor Lodge stationary. On it, in Nova's handwriting was a brief note, which read:

_Derek....._

_Wake up, you sleepyhead! (only kidding, dear)._

_Seriously, Mitzi got me up first by kicking at the door at 0700. She got a whiff of our clothes and figured out that they were pretty dirty, so she took me shopping for some new things for us that I think you'll like. I'm by the pool now, plotting strategy with Mitzi. Wash up, shave (there's some supplies in the W.C. for that purpose), put on the swimsuit and sandals we got for you, and meet us outside._

_Mitzi says there's not much time, so you'd better hurry up. We have to be in Washington DC by sunset, or so she says._

_Love, Nova._

Wondering why the heck he had slept so long, Derek obeyed the summons and got into the shower.

About twelve minutes later, decked out in white swim trunks and a new pair of brown sandals, he went out to the pool, where he saw Mitzi and Nova playing in the water with three local teenagers who had a beach ball. By the presence of the net stretched across the pool, Derek guessed she and Mitzi were playing water volleyball with them; from his experience with her in the Caribbean during their honeymoon, he knew that Nova liked that particular game.

As soon as Nova saw him, she came out of the water with a serious look on her face. Derek noticed that she was wearing a white one-piece tank suit that, nonetheless, looked quite good on her.

"What's wrong, hon?" asked Derek.

"You took so long in there, Derek. Mitzi and I were getting worried about you."

"Why did I sleep so long?" he asked.

"I've got a theory, but we really can't discuss it here," said Mitzi as she swam over. Derek noticed that she had a black one-piece swimsuit on. "As it is, we've got to be at a local hospital by one o'clock."

"Why?" asked Captain Wildstar as he began removing his shoes so he could get into the water with Nova and the others.

"The Medical Examiner wants us there to help figure out a mystery about the death of one of those at the bar the other night," whispered Nova after she dived back into the pool. "Mitzi says it doesn't look pretty in the least."

Derek just nodded grimly.

"Don't be so glum," said Nova in a louder and brighter voice. "We could've used you in backfield before in that last game. Now that you're here, we've got a chance against Matt, Mike, and Jim there."

"Like to play again?" called out Mitzi. "Nova's husband is here."

"Sure!" called out a blond teenage boy in swim trunks.

"Derek, your serve," said Nova with a smile as she threw him the ball after he got into the pool.

"Okay, as long as this doesn't take too long," he said with a grin.

"Spoilsport," said Nova.

"Sorry, love," said Derek with a wink. Nova smiled back at that.

At that, Derek Wildstar served the beach ball over the net.

The game went on for about half an hour. It was a very fun and cute game, with Derek watching over Nova to make sure she didn't get bonked by the ball. They beat the teens 4-2.

With a laugh, the young couple went back into their room to change for breakfast.

* * *

**III.LANDFALL**  
**Space: Between the Earth and the Moon**  
**Space Battleship _Argo: _Forward Boat Bay**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**10:27 AM, Local Time**

Lieutenant Rebecca Voorhees came out of a hatchway in the Forward Boat Bay, followed by Lieutenant Samantha Nichols, a fellow officer in the Living Group. While Mrs. Voorhees served as Education Officer but was the head of the Survey Department of the Living Group, Miss Nichols was the head of the Service Department and was also the head of the Welfare Division.

"What are you two looking so happy about?" asked Venture as he stood near the Starseeker boat. He was there to see Rosstowski and Hartcliffe off.

"Our handiwork," said Voorhees. "Todd and I put our heads together over this one over breakfast. Once we had an idea where to look, it was all too easy to put Nichols and her Supply Section Chief, Ensign Krauss, to work with Royster on solving this problem."

"What problem?" asked Venture.

"How we were gonna look in the sixties, sir," said Bryan Hartcliffe as he and Rosstowski came out together.

Venture's eyes almost popped out. Hartcliffe was wearing a weird multi-colored T-shirt, blue jeans, boots, and a vaguely Native American-looking headband, with his round glasses, and Rosstowski was wearing a beige high-collared jacket, jeans, and sneakers.

"What are _you_ two supposed to be?" said Venture.

"Hippies," said Hartcliffe. "Voorhees did the research, and Nichols, Krauss, and Royster made the clothes. I got a tie-dyed t-shirt, man, and Rosstowski there's got a Nehru jacket. Cool, yeah?"

"What sort of necklace is _that_, Mister Rosstowski?" asked Venture.

"Love beads," huffed Rosstowski. "I've read about them, but when you put them on, they really look pretty stupid."

"No comment, Mister," said Venture. "Well, I guess you two look authentic enough."

The door whizzed open, and Angelique Hartcliffe appeared in the room. "Aren't you supposed to be on watch?" said Venture.

"I'm on alert-thirty," said Mrs. Hartcliffe. "I've come to see Mr. Hartcliffe off, sir."

Venture nodded sympathetically. "Try not to take too long...time is of the essence."

"Of course, sir," said Angie as she walked towards Bryan.

"You be careful down there," she said.

"Ah will be, luv. I know that time like the back o' me hand," said Bryan as he hugged his wife.

"Do you? You've only read about it. It can be very dangerous there," she said.

"Why? They're not as advanced as us."

"That's the _problem,_" whispered Angie. "You're not taking a walk around the Liverpool you know. You're going into a very barbaric and dangerous time where a lot of things could happen to you! Try not to make a spectacle of yourself, for the good of the mission, and for _me?"_

"I'll only come back 'alf drunk," he joked.

"You come back drunk at all, and they'll court-martial you! Got it?" said Angie.

He only popped a cockeyed salute. "I'll join the Queen's Coldstream Guards in that time period if it gets too hot, luv. I think I'd look good in a bearskin hat, huh?"

"Bryan, _do your job!_" said Angie as she hugged him fiercely. He kissed back. "We're done, sir," she said a moment later as Venture walked over. "Sorry...we should've had this conversation in our quarters, sir."

"That's all right," he said, remembering how his relationship with Trelaina had affected his performance a few months ago. He was somewhat surprised that half the Hartcliffes, at least, seemed to remember what they were doing.

"Rosstowski," said Royster. "We briefed you on how to use this?" he asked as he handed Paul something that looked amazingly like a beat-up 20th century pocket transistor radio in a black plastic case.

"I think you did, but I could use one more going-over."

"Well... this device Sandor and I made is a beta-neutrino transceiver. It's somewhat like the tachyon energy indicator Sandor made a few months ago when he, Wildstar, and Sergeant Knox invaded the Comet Empire city-ship, but it works on a different principle. As a straight beta-neutrino receiver, after having dialed out the amplitudes that your body, Hartcliffe's body and your ship are giving off, it'll allow you to tune in on where the Captain and Mrs. Wildstar are, somewhat like an old-fashioned Geiger counter. See the "FM" switch there? Switch it to "FM", and you won't really get the "FM" radio band, you'll, instead, get static, like this..."

Royster flicked the switch, and a faint, staticy roar of white noise came over the speaker. "That's picking up the Captain and Mrs. Wildstar right now in subspace. The closer you get to them, the louder the roar will get. If you switch the small switch to "short-wave," you won't get "short-wave radio" as they called it. Instead, you'll get the "transceiver" setting."

"Pardon me, Royster. I'm a gunner, not a physics whiz like you," said Rosstowski. "What good will that do us?"

"Plenty. Switched to "transceiver", you'll get a short-range instantaneous subspace voice-only comlink back to the ship that'll pass through the Moon to us and vice-versa based on the principle of modulation of your own beta-neutrino traces. In other words, you're the power source, so to speak. This refinement...uh...was my idea. If we can perfect this, we'll have a means of communication even better than our subspace helmet radios, and in less space, too! Plus, no one on Earth can tap into your transmissions back to us, unless they have the same sort of technology we do," added Royster.

"That's good," said Rosstowski. "And what's the "AM" band for?"

"Perfect cover!" said Royster. "It's just a plain old "amplitude modulation" receiver."

"Which is?" said Rosstowski.

"A plain old 20th century radio!" said Royster with a chuckle. "If you feel anyone's watching you, just tune in and listen to the contemporary music! Just be sure not to play it too loud," he added.

"Right," said Hartcliffe. "If we get arrested, we can listen to the tunes."

"Just...don't listen too hard or too long," said Venture. "You and Rosstowski have your jobs...get them done and get back."

"Right," said Hartcliffe as he and Rosstowski saluted. Then, a moment later, he sealed the bubble on their Starseeker boat and began to power up.

Everyone else took that as their cue to leave. Bryan noticed the last to leave was Angie. Right before she went through the airlock door, they exchanged quick winks.

"_Mallard One-Oh-Fiver, you're cleared to take off_," said a female voice over the boat's speakers.

"Roger that," said Hartcliffe. "Open the 'atch and let us out!"

The launch bay opened, and the boat took off .

"Electronic countermeasures up and running," said Hartcliffe. "Rosstowski, you can relax, now, just a few minutes, and we'll be down, in hidin' in a nice spot near where the Captain is, under our ECM sensor blanket. We'll find the Captain and Nova, hit 'em over the bloody 'ead with soda pop bottles if we 'ave to, and drag 'em back to the ship and bring 'em home, even if they're unconscious."

"Bryan, you idiot," said Rosstowski. "Do you know that you just suggested assaulting our commanding officer?"

"If yer chicken you can hit Nova in the 'ead with that pop bottle, mate. She won't fight back too hard if y' put in the boot just right."

"Hartcliffe, you are a _felon!_" snapped Rosstowski. "Lord, how did I ever get caught on a mission with this degenerate?" said Paul with his hands up in the air as they cruised over the surface of the Moon.

"You _volunteered_, mate?" quipped Hartcliffe.

"Remind me never to volunteer for any mission that _might_ include you again," said Paul.

"Too late, son," smiled Bryan.

* * *

"High Protector Gralnacz...a small ship has just left the _Argo_," said a minor Technomugar officer as the _Sukalnach's_ commander reappeared on his ship's bridge. 

"A small ship? Considering that I have not been able to reach the Lord Ekogaru in my meditations, we'll continue to handle this on our own, shall we? Leave them be, _Lektat!_" snapped Gralnacz, addressing the officer by the name for his minor rank in the Technoid language.

"_D'ya,"_ snapped the officer in return.

"It may not be as bad as you think," said Gralnacz, who had changed back into his denims. "A minor matter. I can read their petty minds. They think they shall rescue their commanding officer? What a jest! What a joke! They play right into my _hands!_ Let them operate unimpeded, and we shall have our free chance to attack the Terran pop group I desire to kill. Not long now," said Gralnacz. "I shall wipe you out, incite the revolution, and then play with the Star Force at our leisure. The _Terranische_ fools. I have already killed several of them myself. What does it matter if I kill a very few more?"

"Not at all, sire," smiled the _Lektat._ "I hope to kill a few myself."

"I like that spirit," smiled Gralnacz as he playfully punched his subordinate in the arm. "Soon, my friend, you shall have the chance to activate your weapons and kill them like the vermin they are. Rejoice! Soon we shall be high in His Lordship's favor!"

At that, the _Lektat_ smiled.

* * *

Just a few minutes later, Earth loomed large in the Starseeker's cockpit bubble. "Electronic countermeasures working normally. No sign that our approach has been picked up, sir," said Rosstowski into the small "radio" he carried. 

"You're not being painted by any sort of radar?" asked Venture's voice over the tinny little speaker through a minor wave of static.

"Nothing," said Rosstowski nervously as he scanned the instrument array before him. They had just entered the ionosphere, and the boat's carbon-fiber coated hull began to glow just slightly near the nose. The glow increased, covering the wing surfaces, but increasing no further. Paul noticed that Hartcliffe had the approach curve just right, as if he was on a training flight.

Every sensor instrument was still at nominal. They might as well have been approaching an uninhabited planet.

"Good," said Venture over only a little static, another sign that the beta-neutrino set was working just as Sandor and Royster had promised. The usual brief re-entry communications loss that they had even with their 23rd century equipment was now practically non-existent. "Tell Mister Hartcliffe to put her down in as isolated an area as you can find that will be within the Captain's location."

"Don't worry; I've got the perfect spot planned," said Hartcliffe as the cloud cover cleared slightly, just enough for him to glance a smallish city-area with exactly two tall buildings to his right, with the bend of a small river visible right below him. "What is that place, anyroad? Or what _was_ it?"

"Allentown-Bethlehem," snapped Rosstowski. "We're almost at the target. Keep us _up_ in the overcast, Mister! Someone could still spot us visually if they're sharp enough!"

"Look, anyone spot us?" asked Hartcliffe as they descended down a little more out of the cloud cover, circling over some mountains. "We're in the middle o' nowhere, me friend. Comin' down just below Mach One'll tend to do that."

"How close are you to the target?" asked Venture over the radio.

"Close," said Rosstowski as he looked down nervously, switching the "radio" over to the straight detection band for a moment. The click and roar of the neutrino traces were quite loud now. "We're circling over a very small metropolitan area, coming down into some forest cover in some nearby mountains," said Rosstowski as he switched the radio back over to the "comm" band. "I think Hartcliffe's found us the perfect landing spot," said Paul as the jet recon boat slowed down drastically and dropped down into the forest canopy in a very tight spot...almost too tight for Rosstowski's tastes. "Sensors still "nominal"," reported Paul as the belly thrusters activated and the small ship bumped roughly onto the ground just as Hartcliffe activated its all-terrain wheels. "I'm no Analysis officer, Venture, but I read nothing but trees, squirrels, and maybe a deer a few hundred meters off. No human life signs at all around the woods, and they look almost impenetrable. If Mister Hartcliffe can find a place to guard this boat from prying local eyes, I would say that our arrival has gone utterly undetected."

"Good," said Venture over the comm unit. "Hartcliffe, you and Rosstowski hide the boat as best you can and get out there, find the Captain and Nova, and bring them back ASAP. We now have exactly twenty-two hours left before we're stuck here forever."

"Don't worry, sir, I've got a foolproof approach to this problem already at hand," said Hartcliffe. "There's a small hollow ahead of us. It looks like a _long_-deserted mine shaft of some kind. I'm putting the boat in there and we're hidin' the entrance with underbrush."

"Be sure you cover it up, but also be sure not to hide it so well that you can't find it within a few hours," said Venture. "Remember, that's your ride home."

"Roger that," said Hartcliffe. "Anything else?"

"Good luck," said Venture as Rosstowski nodded and switched the radio back to "detect" mode as the boat slowly drove into the semi-darkness.

"Stop here," said Rosstowski a minute later. "We don't want to go too deep. This thing could cave in on us if we hit one of those old support pillars the wrong way."

Hartcliffe stopped and relaxed as the boat's engine whirred softly and then went silent just as he cracked the canopy. "What a _reek_!" he yelled. "What did they mine down here, mate? _Crap?_"

"No, they mined coal down here," said Rosstowski as he emerged, grateful for his boots as a rat scurried over his foot. "The smell's because we're probably at the edge of a methane pocket. By the look of things, this shaft must've been abandoned for about a good forty years or so."

"Good. We don't need to do too much to hide the ship, then?" said Hartcliffe.

"No, we don't."

"Good. Let's get outta here, then. Back into daylight," said Hartcliffe as he looked nervously at the skeleton of a small tree. It had sprouted and then died here in the un-nourishing earth that was mostly slate dust with a smattering of coal dust that had been left behind even by the last of the miners who had trooped deeper into this passage years ago.

"Why? Don't tell me you're _scared?_"

"I am, all right?" said Hartcliffe. "I couldn't stand it in the underground cities, and I'm utterly buggy even down here, all right? I don't like nasty dark places underground, man. Y' might call that me phobia."

"Why's that? We had to survive down there," said Rosstowski.

"Yeah. Y'ever thought about what'd happen if it all came down on top o' yer _head?_ That's the way me Uncle Max died, mate. He was caught in the ruins, dead, when the underground city beneath Manchester collapsed in 2195, Paul! And let me show you somethin!"

"What?" asked Paul quizzically.

Hartcliffe pulled up one leg of his blue jeans. "See that scar? Only Angie, Doc Sane, and Nova know I have that scar in me leg. Only Angie and you will know what it's from, and you ever breathe a word of this to anyone, Paul, I will hunt ya down and _kill _ya!"

"What's your secret?" asked Paul, who was suddenly shocked as Bryan dragged him forward by the front of his Nehru jacket.

"I was there_ with_ me uncle, _mate!_" screamed Hartcliffe. "A big rock caught him and crushed him into a bloody _pulp!_ A little rock ripped me leg open right here! Me uncle Max was a good man, you moron!! Churchgoin' and all that, and I had to lay there in the near-dark and hear him die and feel his blood and gore and all that over me and...all that...it was...awful! Horrid! That's why I'm so crazy, man! I'm tryin' to blot the bloody memory _OUT!_" roared Bryan as he took off his glasses to wipe his eyes and then banged the rock floor of the mineshaft with his fists. "It should have been me, Paul. Not him! He was a good man! I was a creep! IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!!!" sobbed Hartcliffe.

"Bryan, I'm sorry...really...I'm sorry," said Paul as he knelt down on the ground and held his comrade. "I've lost people, too. I...sorta...know what it's like."

"I wanna give Desslok the finger, I wanna give Desslok the finger when I see him," sobbed Bryan. "His war killed me uncle. Me uncle cared for me even more than me dad did, son. Really!"

"Hey...Captain Wildstar lost his parents in the war...anyone ever tell you that?" said Paul.

"Good for 'im. If he can talk to Desslok like that, 'e must not be human!" said Hartcliffe.

"I didn't think you were until you told me this. How come you never open up to anyone?" whispered Paul.

"No one else here in this world I can trust. Somethin' funny tells me I can trust you. Don't know why...maybe you chose the wrong line o' work, Paul. You shoulda been a vicar."

"Once, my mother _was_ trying to get me to be a priest," said Paul. "Long story."

"Good. Secrecy of the confessional and all that?" sobbed Bryan.

"Yeah. Sure, " said Paul. "I'll keep my trap shut," he said with a weak smile.

"Good," sniffed Bryan as he abruptly sat up, pulling away from Paul. "You never tell anyone we sat here and hugged like this, hear? Otherwise, they'll think we're faggots," snorted Hartcliffe through a last sob. "And, Paul."

"Yeah?"

Bryan picked up his glasses deliberately and then put them back on. Paul noticed, somehow, in that gesture he became the infamous Hartcliffe all over again. "Paul. You never tell anyone, _anyone_ you saw me with me glasses off! Got that?"

"I won't...Hartcliffe," said Paul.

"thanks," he whispered. "Now let's hide that plane and get outta this hole. Now you know why underground places give me the creeps."

"I do," said Rosstowski. "Hartcliffe."

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for opening up a little."

"Don't mention it, mate," laughed Hartcliffe. "C'mon. We got work to do. We gotta find the Captain and his missus, even if we have to beat the crap out of them to bring them back."

"You're incorrigible," laughed Paul.

"You're pretty screwed up, too, Paul. Father Rosstowski, huh?"

"Don't _you _ever breathe a word of _that_ to anyone, you sicko," chuckled Paul.

"Cross me heart and hope to die. I won't. Here, help me gather up these dead branches. Gotta hide the entrance," said Hartcliffe.

Paul helped him, rather surprised that he had made a friend out of someone he had sworn was his enemy.

* * *

Later in the afternoon, after a long walk in the woods, Paul and Bryan came out of the woods near the edge of something that reminded them of a crater of the moon. 

"What's this place?" asked Hartcliffe.

"They used to call these things strip mines," replied Rosstowski. "This was the next technological stage in coal mining. Some progress, huh?"

"Probably cheaper to dig a big hole on top o' the ground as opposed to goin' under it, right?" volunteered Hartcliffe.

"Right. You're a genius," chuckled Rosstowski.

"Also, we're near civilization. Look...up ahead, there's a road," said Hartcliffe. "Well, let's get on with it."

"What?"

"Our mission," chortled Hartcliffe. "How's your radio?"

"Getting slowly closer," said Paul as he listened to the static. "They can't be more than a few kilometers away, I guess."

"Stop sayin' kilometers. They used miles in this time," said Hartcliffe.

"Okay, we can't be more than a few miles away," said Rosstowski. "Hey, look at that. _Cool!_" he said.

"All I see is a beat-up mining locomotive, Rosstowski."

"That's the point!" said Rosstowski. "This was a real locomotive once, an authentic internal-combustion engine. Sure, it's covered with rust, now, but at one time, somebody drove this thing down a track."

"Track's buried, son," said Hartcliffe. "Don't tell me. Ya wanna play with trains, mate?"

"It would be so _cool_ to see this thing run again," sighed Rosstowski while he tapped the cobwebbed bell on top of the small diesel switcher. The bell swung a little in its mounting cradle and the clapper made a sickly _dinging_ sound. "I'm probably never going to see a train run on steel tracks."

"That's your dream?" said Hartcliffe.

"You must have dreams about what you would have like to have seen in the past...here," said Rosstowski. "What would you like to see?"

"John, Paul, George and Ringo playin' a concert. Probably never see that, mate. We're not gonna be here in the past for long."

"That would be neat to see," mused Paul.

"Oh? Another fan of the Fabs?" mused Bryan.

Paul nodded. "Yeah. I liked their music. They were one of the few bands from this time whose music lasted right into our time. Probably because there so was so much of it. Not even the Gamilons could have entirely wiped out the sound of the Beatles. Funny thing, isn't it?"

"Who's yer favorite Beatle?" asked Hartcliffe.

"McCartney," said Paul.

"Lennon," replied Hartcliffe.

"Guess everyone has their own tastes," said Paul.

"What do you mean by that?"

"No comment. Shoulda guessed you were a Lennon fan...you look kinda like the one picture I saw of him."

"What picture was that?"

"The one grainy black and white one in the schoolbooks," said Rosstowski. "Except that he didn't have a mustache in that picture, and his hair was parted in the middle."

"That picture," said Hartcliffe. "From the inside of the White Album? The one where McCartney didn't shave?"

"They made a white album? What was that?" said Rosstowski.

"What they called recordings then," said Hartcliffe. "They came on big black disks, and they had to be held in these, like, special bindings. I saw one in the museum in Liverpool before the Gamilons bombed it. Hey, you're sure starin' at that choo-choo. You okay?"

"Venture once said that he and Wildstar saw the site in the old seabed in the East China Sea where the _Argo_ was being built. They crash-landed there, and over the underground factory where the _Argo _was being constructed, the wreck of the old rusty battleship _Yamato_ was over it.

I've heard tales that part of the _Yamato's _scrap metal even ended up being re-smelted into the metal that made up the _Argo,_ whichwas almost formally called the _Yamato_ until Captain Avatar renamed our ship."

"So?"

"It got into the movies and all, that image of the old _Yamato's _rusty bridge tower, or a simulation of it, jutting up out of the dry seabed like it was waiting to be reborn, which, in a sense, she was when the _Argo_ burst up out of it. I wasn't on the ship until a day or so later, but Venture and Wildstar both told me how that image looked...a new ship coming out of the ruins of the old," said Rosstowski.

"So what's that have to do with this rusty locomotive?"

"It kind of reminds me of the way the old _Yamato_ looked, that's all," said Paul. "Like it's waiting to rise again."

"Like that'll ever happen," said Hartcliffe. "This thing will probably sit here and rust until the Gamilon war blows it into a zillion rust particles. "

"It'd be nice to see it running again," insisted Rosstowski. "Or to see a train like it going down a track. Like the old Pennsylvania Railroad, for instance."

"Yeah. Like it'd be nice to see the Beatles perfomin' live for us. Not _our_ luck, mate. We're soldiers. Soldiers of love. Nothin' nice ever happens to us," said Hartcliffe.

"You never know," said Paul. "You never know."

Both men sat in thought for a bit until they realized they had to walk towards the road.

"We'd better go, Hartcliffe," said Rosstowski. "Our mission awaits us, and duty calls."

"How are we gettin' down the road?" asked Bryan as they walked around the mining pit, passing abandoned buildings and rusty equipment as the road came ever closer.

"We look like kids of this time," said Rosstowski. "We'll hitch-hike."

"What's that?"

"You stand, like this, by the side of the road, with your thumb out, and you wait until a car stops to give you a ride," said Paul. "The old stories say it worked every time you needed a ride."

"Yeah, right. We'd be better off walkin'," said Bryan. "I think I see a town over the crest of the hill. The charts on the ship said it was Hazleton."

"No, we'll get a ride," said Paul.

Hartcliffe shrugged, smiled inanely, and joined Rosstowski by the side of the road with his thumb out. "Whatever you say, my friend. Whatever you say."

* * *

**IV. KEYSTONE (one)**  
**St. Joseph's Hospital**  
**Office of the Luzerne County Coroner**  
**Hazleton, PA**  
**Friday, June 23, 1967**  
**1:13 PM, Local Time**

"I've seen this before, believe me," said Mitzi Shavirov. "And the sight of this sort of thing _still_ makes me ill, Derek."

Derek Wildstar was standing against a cold glazed-brick wall in a basement room that looked ancient. He had changed into a white turtleneck, dark brown vest, fresh pair of jeans, and a pair of black boots that Mitzi had gotten him as his new outfit. Even though he still looked mod, his new clothes were at least cleaner than the others, even though he'd never quite worn clothes like this in his life...nor was he sure he'd want to.

Mitzi had changed into a dark jacket, miniskirt, and boots, and she was chewing her nails, quite an uncharacteristic gesture for the otherwise confident secret agent.

Derek wasn't chewing his nails, but he felt as if he wanted to, especially if he looked at the sight in the middle of the room hard enough.

In the middle of the room, there was a cold steel table, around which three figures were working, all in bloody green scrub gowns. On the table lay the remains of Francis "Frank" McCauley, who had been killed last night in McAdoo by Gralnacz in Butala's Bar.

The first figure was Constantine Gisewski, MD, the elderly Luzerne County Coroner.

The second figure was Ben Lambert, MD, a much younger man, who was Dr. Gisewski's assistant pathologist.

The third figure was Nova, acting as Gisewski's nurse-assistant because his regular nurse had called in sick today. Further, Shavirov, who was in charge of this autopsy for her organization, had talked them into using Nova as a "special expert" in pathology to allow this procedure to go on without undue delay.

All three of them wore long green scrub gowns that came down to about their knees; Lambert and Gisewski wore their usual white jackets, slacks and shoes beneath their scrubs; Nova had previously changed into a new outfit Mitzi had gotten her. It was a pink jumpsuit one-piece jumpsuit with shorts that looked a lot like one of her favorite outfits back in the 23rd century; she wore a new pair of pink sandals with this outfit.

"Have you got the cranium open, Lambert?" asked Gisewski.

He nodded, handing the bone saw over to Nova, who handed him another instrument with which he opened Frank's skull.

"Oh, my GOD," said Lambert. "Doc, look at this! This is _impossible!_"

Gisewski came over, looking inside Frank's cranium. "He must've been in an electric chair too long...everything in here is a charred mess."

Nova, trying to keep down her breakfast (due to the unusual and morbid way in which Frank had died) came over and said, "No. He was thrown on top of the bar by Gralnacz, his assailant...and he was simply touched by him. I saw Frank twitch three times and then die with smoke coming up out of his right ear...right here," said Nova, pointing in with an instrument. "You can see that here, even the bone was charred on the inside of the auditory canal."

"He must've had a flame-thrower or fuel-air bomb of some kind," said Gisewski. "This is impossible."

"Then how come there was no damage on the outside of his head?" countered Lambert.

"I...I don't know," said Gisewski.

"I can tell you why," said Shavirov as she came over, trying not to look too hard at Frank's corpse.

"Why?" asked Gisewski.

"This news is not to leave this room, and is to go only in the report you give us," said Mitzi. "This man was killed by an alien from deep space with extraordinary powers. What you've revealed there...proves it."

"How do we know you're believable?" countered Gisewski.

"Your temporary nurse collaborated my account when she told you what happened. She was an eyewitness, like the young man over there. They both know what happened."

"We know the cause of death now," said Lambert. "Do we need to go on with this?" he asked. "We've already examined his chest cavity and found nothing unusual there, sir."

"I guess not," sighed Gisewski. "All right. You and Mrs. Wildstar are to close up and get this poor devil ready for the undertaker. I'll meet with all of you in my office in forty-five minutes. Excuse me, but I need a stiff drink," he said after the pulled off his gown and lit up a big cigar. Running a hand over his balding pate and grey hair, he said, "Damnit, I'm getting too old for this crap. See you later."

With that, he left, leaving Derek, Nova, Mitzi and Lambert looking at each other with surprised eyes.

"Nova, are you okay?" asked Derek. "I know...that must've been upsetting."

"I'm fine, dear. Mitzi, is he always like that?" asked Nova.

Lambert just nodded.

* * *

Out on Route 309, Hartcliffe and Rosstowski had been waiting for quite a while for a car to stop and pick them up. 

So far, they had met with no success.

"Y' think it's the way we're dressed?" said Hartcliffe.

"No, I think it's because you've been smiling like a psycho for forty minutes," rejoined Rosstowski.

"You look stoned," said Hartcliffe.

"At least I don't look like I'm going to kill anyone," said Paul. "We should've asked for hats or something. All this time with the sun beating on your head..."

"Let's walk then," said Bryan.

Rosstowski began to follow, but, all of a sudden, a black, very beat-up, very old Ford came to a stop on the shoulder near them.

"Hey you," said a growling, grumbling voice from with the car. "You kids wanna ride?"

The voice, they noticed, was attached to a face that looked somewhere around eighty-five years old, with bloodshot eyes, crazy grey-white hair in a mop, and a crazy, scraggly beard.

"Should we?" whispered Rosstowski. "You think he's safe?"

"It'll save us a hike," said Hartcliffe. "Let's go."

* * *

They got into the car with the old fellow, and, immediately, Rosstowski sensed that something didn't seem to be right about their driver. 

"What are you doing?" asked Rosstowski.

Paul noticed that the old man was taking a swig of what looked like water from a beat-up old bottle. However, it didn't quite _smell _like plain water.

"Nothin's wrong," growled the old man as he put back his bottle. Rosstowski winced at his odor, confirming his suspicion; the old man was drinking booze, openly, in the driver's seat of his car.

"Do I smell...?" asked Paul.

"Do I detect a _moron_?" asked the old man. "You can get a ride t' Hazleton with me, or you guys can wait for the next three hours. Whaddizzit?"

Paul began to open the door. "Hartcliffe, we don't need this. This guy's a rummie."

"Y'leave, you'll never find Wildstar," growled the old man.

"Did y' say Wildstar, mate?" asked Hartcliffe.

"No. I said I'm blowin' me nose," grumbled the old man. "_COURSE _I said Wildstar, ya geeks!" yelled the old man. "My name's Melvin Seadragon, and it's my fault he's here, that Nova's here, and that you space cadets are here! Wanna take my help, or do ya wanna go play with daffodils?"

"What do you want from _us_?" demanded Rosstowski.

"Need your help, youse guys. And unless you two are louses, ya need mine," said Melvin as he shifted back into gear and began to signal for a right turn. Having it, he sped out, shifting the column shifter in his ancient car up to "second" and then "third" in a hurry.

"Can you deliver on what yer sayin', mate?" asked Hartcliffe.

"Can do that and more," said Melvin. "I'm an alien _freak_, but don't worry. I'll take you guys right to where Wildstar and his missus are...no tricks. I promise that."

"You trust him?" whispered Rosstowski.

"Yeah...sort of..," said Hartcliffe.

"Shuddup back there and lemme drive," growled Melvin. "Let me tell ya how I got mixed up in this and why I'm drivin' a '49 Ford with a flathead V-8 right about now..."

* * *

**V. WRATH**  
**The Grand Technomugar Fortress**  
**Approximately One Million Lightyears from Earth**  
**January 10, 2202**  
**0154 Hours**

The Dark Lord Ekogaru, Gralnacz's Master and the so-called "War god" of the Rikashans and their warrior-priest caste, the R'Khell, sat on his shiny Obsidian throne in his Grand Technomugar Fortress, smiling as, far below the huge dais, Generalissimo Vergar and Marda, his High Prophetess, prostrated themselves on a black runner of carpet five meters below his throne, which was in the center of his vast Audience Chamber.

"Good," thundered Ekogaru from his throne. "You may stand and reflect before I am ready to speak to you."

"What are you doing, Lordship?" asked Marda nervously.

"Reflecting. Disturb not my meditations for the moment."

"Of course," she replied.

Both cyborgs quaked a little as they stood before their Lordship's presence. Vergar looked to be middle-aged, although he was, in truth, about 3,000 years old, give or take a decade. He had been Ekogaru's right-hand man ever since the Dark Lord had begun his mad rise to power 3,000 years before as Rikasha's chancellor...before he had devastated the planet with nuclear weapons and left the survivors of the war to rot and mutate until he needed them again.

The bearded face of Vergar still looked much as it had 3,000 years beforehand, save that the process of making him into a cyborg in the image of his Master had turned his skin blue.

He glanced around as the Dark Lord rotated his back to them with the touch of a button_. Once this very chamber was on old Rikasha,_ he thought. _Then, it was merely the Grand House of Parliament, and His Lordship's seat was the Chancellor's seat, which sat behind and above the high seat of the Assembly Speaker and the Royal Seat of the Lord of the House of the Peerage, he who exercised power when the Chancellorship was vacant. I know. I was then the Speaker of his final Assembly, which once sat row by row behind those pillars with the Peerage. I killed most of them before we lifted the Government House into space, and before we built it into the ship. And I still wear my Speaker's Cloak! Now, we rule not over a handful of planets, but over untold thousands of worlds. How far we have come!_

He glanced at Marda as he fiddled with his sky-blue tunic. She wore the same sort of tunic, save that hers was burgundy, and a little longer than his own; it served her as a minidress. She wore a short black cape, black open-toed gladiator boots, and she stood holding her silver helmet and face-mask, decorated with its blue plume.

"You're here more than I am," he whispered. "As his Chief Prophetess, do you know what he's thinking?

She smiled, showing the delicacy of her orange-skinned Rikashan features. "No, Generalissimo. In some things, you know that great mind better than I do. You have been with him for three thousand years. I have been with him for but two hundred. I was then a mere trader and fortuneteller, who miswarped and found myself in his realm. I suffered pain, but, eventually, the rewards were worth it, as was eternal life."

"I am glad to hear you still have such a high opinion of me," said Ekogaru as the throne turned back around again. "Vergar. How goes the Fortress?"

"The repair work still continues, my Lord."

"Wonderful. Marda...have you found my Gralnacz?"

"No, lord, it is my duty to report unto you that I haven't. Neither myself, nor your other sixty-five Prophetesses have felt anything of him."

"I know where he is," said Ekogaru.

"_Where,_ Lordship?" asked Marda.

"In the past, gypsy. Earth's past. I think he's hatching a fine plan: destroy the meddlesome planet at its root. I am not sure what he is planning, but I endorse it. He is most inventive, but irrational. If he fails me, it will not go well for him when he slinks his way back here to my Presence. If he succeeds, on the other hand, he will put you two to great shame. Why didn't you think of this?"

Both of Ekogaru's servants bowed their heads in fear. "Fear not. I like Gralnacz...as I like both of you. Now, go. Find for me Desslok. See to it that you rid me of this troublesome Gamilon."

Both of them knelt again, and then Ekogaru said, "Leave me. Now."

Both of them left the Audience Chamber just as Ekogaru began to dim the spotlight that shone down on his throne.

"Marda, Marda," whispered Ekogaru to himself as the heavy doors slammed shut, wielded by two more of the sixty-five women that Marda had under her command as Ekogaru's personal guard and psionic advisors. "Little do you know that you have already failed your final test, along with Second Prophetess Jirgenda, and along with Gralnacz, whose plot, as I have foreseen, will collapse under its own weight, leaving Earth to trouble us, until I can deal with it. I shall not take Gralnacz's life...not yet. Soon, however, I shall take your life, fortuneteller. I enhanced you, but not enough. When my plan comes into fruition, Aliscea of Pellias shall take your mantle from you and serve beside me, hopefully to be dragged here by her father and my new Second, she whom I will have to enhance greatly to command and advise the forces of this Galaxy in Jirgenda's stead. She shall like it more than Jirgenda, and she shall come to me of her own accord, as opposed to the mighty Aliscea, you, and Jirgenda."

Ekogaru chuckled to himself as he opened up a strangely-trimmed computer terminal from one of the arms of his throne. He typed one of the keys, marked with the strange half-Arabic, half-runic-looking letters of old Rikasha, and brought up a fat, withered, evil-looking face.

"You'll love serving under me, Yvona Josiah of Earth," chuckled Ekogaru. "You shall not have Earth, directly under your heel, madwoman, even though you shall, after a fashion. After all, you will have your youth back, and with it, you shall bring your niece to me, either to serve willingly or unwillingly as the new Viceroy over Earth. If she won't serve willingly, you will make her do it. For, you shall have a small share of my own psionic when I rebuild you as a cyborg, and she will not."

Ekogaru waved his hand over the screen again, making Nova's face appear over it as she sat listening to the discussion in Doctor Gisewski's office in Hazleton, PA 235 years or so in the past. "You look pretty in pink, my dear. You shall look prettier in burgundy and white, as my hand, my governor, my Viceroy, over the conquered Earth." He smiled, making a marker appear in his hand. With it, he drew a sick-looking "smiley" face over Nova's image, gleefully drawing a pair of devil's horns on top of her head as he chuckled like the psychopath he was.

"You see, conquest is not what gives me pleasure the most," said Ekogaru. "What gives me the most pleasure is corrupting the innocent, taking what is good and pure and perfecting it according to my higher moral law. And you, and your husband, shall be _quite _enjoyable to corrupt!"

The Dark Lord suddenly stood. He smashed the crystal globe-like head of his sorcerer's staff straight into the monitor, laughing as he watched the video image dissolve in sparks and flame. Then, he stood, throwing his head back and laughing his glee and mad defiance straight towards the heavens themselves.

* * *

**Here ends Part Five of _Fixing a Hole_**  



	6. Act Six

ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE

STAR BLAZERS---FIXING A HOLE

Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT--- BY: Frederick P. Kopetz

* * *

ACT SIX-RUNNING OUT OF TIME

* * *

I. KEYSTONE (two)

St. Joseph's Hospital

Personal Office of Dr. Gisewski--Luzerne County Coroner

Hazleton, PA

Friday, June 23, 1967

1:45 PM, Local Time

"I have no idea what we've walked into," said Dr. Gisewski, "but I know one thing for sure; this whole business is nothing but a big damn nightmare."

The old man sighed, slamming the dossier on Frank McCauley's autopsy down on the brown top of his ugly grey institutional desk. "Can you tell me what's goin' on, Lambert?"

"No, I can't, doc," said his younger assistant.

"I can tell you, just as I have been telling you all afternoon," snapped Mitzi Shavirov, who was sitting on an equally ugly olive drab filing cabinet, which leaned against the dirty white wall of the drab hospital office. "Earth is under attack by an alien force. An alien force which is only getting nastier and nastier as time goes by. My two friends here, from the future, are an attestation to that fact. And _that's why_ I need that dossier, Doctor Gisweski."

Nova Wildstar looked at her husband, Captain Derek Wildstar, and then she looked to her left to look at Mitzi, who was sitting on the same ugly filing cabinet that Nova was leaning on. "If I were you, I'd give it to her," suggested Nova.

"Why?" insisted Gisewski. "How do we know you're really from the future? This file belongs to the county, to begin with, and what's..."

"_HEY! You can't go in there!_" cried a female voice on the other side of the door. "_That's the Coroner's private office, you drunk; you damn hippies, you...!_"

The wooden door smashed against the wall, and in burst Melvin Seadragon, Bryan Hartcliffe, and Paul Rosstowski.

"_Melvin! Hartcliffe! Rosstowski!_ What are you doing here?" cried Captain Wildstar.

"Well, we _were_ here to take you and Nova back to the ship, sir," began Hartcliffe. "But, this guy says that we have other business. After what he pulled in the car on the way here, I believe him."

"Listen, Wildstar, or whatever your name is..." said Gisewski. "Are you about to tell me that these three idiots are from the _future?"_

"Just him and him," said Derek, pointing to Hartcliffe and Rosstowski. "The fellow with the beard is an alien, believe it or not."

Mitzi Shavirov nodded at that. "I don't quite know Wildstar's associates here, but he's telling the truth about this man," said Mitzi as she got up and put an arm around Melvin (although not too closely-he stank.)

Nova looked at Melvin, wrinkling her nose somewhat. "Thanks for arriving...and bringing Rosstowski and Hartcliffe. What do you two want?"

A muffled voice came over a small radio that Rosstowski was holding. "Hello, Rosstowski?"

Derek sat up. "That's Venture! That's a comlink?"

Paul nodded. "Yessir. Sandor built it...I..."

Give it to me, Mister," snapped Derek. 

"Yessir," said Rosstowski, who gladly handed it over.

"Rosstowski?" asked Venture from the device.

Taking a guess, Derek thumbed a button on the device. "Hello, Venture?"

"_Wildstar!_" cried Venture. His joy was evident by the tone of his voice. "Are Hartcliffe and Rosstowski all right? Where's Nova?"

"Right here," said Nova. "Rosstowski and Hartcliffe are here with us in an office in a 20th century hospital."

"Is this line secure?" demanded Captain Wildstar.

"It works through modulated neutrinos; no one on contemporary Earth can even detect this, let alone listen in," said Sandor. "Am I glad to hear that you're all right, sir. The _Argo's_ on the dark side of the moon right now. Are you coming back soon? We have just seventeen hours and forty-five minutes left before we're trapped here forever. You'd better get back soon."

"We will," said Wildstar. "But we have an errand to finish here in this time. You know the enemy commander who was after us?"

"Yes. He attacked the ship," said Venture. "We got one of his fortresses with the wave gun. As for the other one..."

"Venture. Listen," said Wildstar. He's here on Earth and he wants to wreck the past by assassinating a very prominent individual in this time. An alien agent named Melvin Seadragon told us that a while ago. He also has helped us."

"How much time will you need to stop the enemy?" asked Venture.

"We have to go to Washington D.C. to meet with some people in our secret organization, and our scientific advisor, from the same organization." said Mitzi. "The drive down and the train ride from Philadelphia will take about five hours. Then, we'll be flying down, which'll take about twelve hours, and...this'll be cutting it tight...way tight."

"Damnit, I got a solution," said Melvin.

"Do you?" demanded Mitzi. "You don't have your TARDIS here, do you?"

"No, I'm afraid not," he said after a moment. "But I know someone who's _got _another TARDIS. And he'll be in Washington."

"We'll have to drive to Washington," said Mitzi. "Captain, Nova, bring your friends and come on."

"Wildstar...where are you?" said Venture's voice over the radio.

"With Mitzi Shavirov, a U.S. government agent that we've met up with. I'll answer your questions later, on the way to Washington, D.C."

"Washington?" demanded Venture, who was standing next to Homer. "What are you going to be doing down there?"

"We're at least...known of by a branch of the government linked to an international organization who knows about such things. It appears...at least in this time frame, that Earth was visited by aliens before the Gamilons found it."

"Sandor?" asked Venture.

"This may be an alternate universe, and then again, it may not. We can't take the risk of having the flow of time ruined, Venture. If the Captain knows that this is definitely a threat to Earth, even if it's just a chance it's our Earth, we'd better let him do what he can to solve the problem and then get back to the ship ASAP, " said Sandor.

"Wildstar?" asked Venture.

"Mark, I'm _ordering_ you to give us enough time to finish this. We are now in 1967. If the time stream is altered here, 1968 might then become a year of world revolution and possibly world war rather than a year in which there were simply a few local protests and local actions. If we fail to return to the ship...you are to leave without us and hope that history somehow remains the same. We can get there in more than enough time to accomplish our mission now. Wildstar out."

"Wildstar?" cried Venture as the speaker went dead. "_Wildstar!_"

"Venture, he's given us an order," said Sandor. "We've got to obey it."

"He had better get back in time. We _need_ him," said Venture before he snapped, "Sandor, you take command for a bit."

"Have to go off and think?"

Mark just nodded his head.

"Understood," said Sandor as Mark left the bridge.

* * *

In Hazleton, Mitzi smiled as she noticed that Gisewski still had the dossier. "I'll take that. Oh, by the way, you and Lambert are under arrest," she said cheerfully as she withdrew her gun and held it on them. "We're going by train to Washington and then heading straight to a section of the Pentagon that no one knows about. Lower sixth level, alpha-bravo-delta six, Melvin." 

"Right," said Melvin. "Wish I had me TARDIS with me. Is there another way out...past our friends outside? They've got cops now. I can hear 'em."

"We're on the first floor," said Nova. "I think we can go out the window."

"Sounds good," said Mitzi. "You two first," she said as she waved the gun on Gisewski and Lambert.

They went, Shavirov went, and then Derek went. When he got out the window, standing to help Nova down, Nova said, "This is sort of fun...isn't it?"

"Why?"

"Reminds me of sneaking out of the house when I was about eight."

"Alex and I did that at times, too," said Derek as his wife climbed out while he helped her.

Melvin came last. "Who goes first?" he asked as he approached his car.

"I will," she said. "Nova, Derek, you get into my car with me..."

They did. Melvin got into his car with Hartcliffe and Rosstowski, and they had two government cars bringing up the rear. With that, off they went.

* * *

It was a bit of a drive. Mitzi had a detachable flasher on her dash, and Derek, being bigger, rode up front with her. Nova sat directly behind Shavirov in the back seat, stretching her long legs on the seat so she'd have more room. 

"Where do we have to drive to?" asked Nova.

"Philadelphia," replied Shavirov as they swung off 309 onto a road called PA Route 209. "We'll soon be on the main road, and then we'll take the turnpike down the valley to Philadelphia."

"What town is this?" asked Derek about a half hour later.

"Jim Thorpe," replied Mitzi as they drove over a mountain with their caravan behind them. "The turnpike's just a few minutes away."

They got onto the Northeast Extension of the Pennsylvania Turnpike at a town known as Lehighton. After roaring through a tunnel that went under the mountains, they went south towards the Lehigh Valley. Passing the rest stop, Nova noticed that what she knew as "Allensburg" was still called "Allentown" back in these times.

After about an hours' worth of driving, they got off the Turnpike and went down Route 1 to Philadelphia. Stopping at a McDonald's at Roosevelt Boulevard and Red Lion Road, they went in and had a quick meal. While they ate, Rosstowski asked Captain Wildstar, "What about our transport?"

"What transport?"

"Our Starseeker recon boat. We left it up in an abandoned mine shaft up in the mountains."

"We can't talk about that too much," said Derek. "Let's just hope that no one finds it."

* * *

Unknown to Rosstowski and Wildstar, it was being found at that very moment...but not by Terrans. 

"You said it was here, Lord High Protector?" asked one of the eight armored Technomugar shocktroops who accompanied Gralnacz, who was now in his blue uniform and black cloak, not even bothering to disguise himself for this task.

None of the troopers were disguised either. All of them were in standard adaptable Technomugar shocktroop armor, which in this case, was colored woodland camo green to match the forest environment. However, they still looked threatening, alien, and creepy as they patrolled the mouth of the mine shaft that Hartcliffe and Rosstowski had found a few hours ago. The indicator lights on their breastplates flashed strangely in unison with the bodily functions of the troopers' cyborg bodies.

All in all, they looked like a blot of evil on an otherwise clear summer day in the woods.

"It _is_ here, you idiot!" hissed Gralnacz. "Right in the mine tunnel!"

"Of course, sir," said the troopers' squad leader with a snapped-arm salute after looking in. "It's here, all right! This way, men."

"What do we do?" asked another trooper.

"Five of you, follow me; we'll incinerate that ship. Hidalga, Korant, you stay out there with the Lord High Protector. If any Earthers show up, do not attempt to communicate. Incinerate them alive. If they resist, take them alive so we can take them back to the ship and teach them a lesson in the torture suite."

"Right, sergeant."

As Gralnacz stood smiling, the sergeant and his men placed charges all over the Star Force jet recon boat. They came out, and the sergeant nodded once. Gralnacz nodded back, and then the sergeant pushed a small button on his belt buckle.

Flame and smoke blew out of the mouth of the mine shaft, which caved in on the burning jet recon boat a moment later.

"Now they can't get back to their ship," said the sergeant.

"I just need to separate them from the two rotten half-breed Time Lords who are helping them," replied Gralnacz. "Don't ask me about it; I'll handle it on my own in London. _Shhh_," added their commander.

"Lord...?"

"Silence, Travar. Two hunters are approaching. Deal with them."

Travar saluted in reply and he spread out his men with a hand signal.

"Hey, who's there?" yelled a voice with a distinct American accent.

Travar dropped his hand, and blaster fire rang out in the forest.

The first man who had spoken collapsed, dead before he even hit the ground. The second man was hit three times, leaving one of his legs a smoking stump.

"DAMN!" he cried out. He was a young man, of about eighteen or twenty. "What the hell did you guys kill my dad for? HUH? I..."

"Silence the Earthling," ordered Gralnacz. "And speak Terran, please. Let him KNOW what's in store for him."

"Of course," said Travar in Terran. Smiling under his face mask, Travar slapped the young man across the face with his metal-armored hand so hard that it knocked out three teeth.

"Take him," said Gralnacz. "On the ship, you shall teach him not to interfere with _us._ Enjoy your fun, sergeant. This is the first Earther we've taken. Put him through a living death in the torture suite, my friend."

Travar saluted, and he and three of his troopers grabbed the young man, one by the stump of his leg.

"What planet are you taking me to? What sort of monsters are you? You won't get away with this! HELLLPPP! NO!!!!! THAT HURRRTS! MOTHER!!" screamed the young man as he was hauled up onto their shoulders.

Gralnacz clapped once, and the alien band teleported back to their Goraizu Fortress.

* * *

The Wildstars, Shavirov, Melvin, Rosstowski, Hartcliffe, and the others finally arrived at 30th Street Station in Philadelphia and purchased tickets for the next train to Washington, D.C. 

Before long, they were on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive from Trenton. In a short time, a line of Tuscan Red coaches led by a Brunswick Green Pennsylvania Railroad GG-1 electric locomotive pulled in and stopped at the platform.

Rosstowski smiled at Hartcliffe. "Look at that, I got my wish. Isn't that old-fashioned 1930's locomotive beautiful?"

"Yeah, sure is," said Hartcliffe. "Sorry, but _we_ don't have much time."

"The passengers are still getting off," said Nova. "Let him look for a bit. We'll never see an old train like this again, that's for sure."

A moment later, the conductor yelled, "_'BOARD!!!_"

"Looks like that's our cure, Nova," smiled Derek.

"I wonder what this ride will be like?" she mused.

**_

* * *

_**

**II. PENTAGON**

**The Pentagon**

**Lower Sixth Level**

**lWashington, D.C**

**Friday, June 23, 1967**

**4:00 PM, Local Time**

A few hours later, but quite a bit ahead in the time stream, everyone arrived at an alcove in a Pentagon hallway far underground, well beneath even the War Room itself. They had made it through several checkpoints on Mitzi's OK with her US Government ID card. However, she warned them they might have a hard time at the final checkpoint, here, at the entrance to the U.N.I.T liaison briefing room.

Melvin strode up to the double doors first, looking at a smaller alcove near the doors. "Yeah, I know my chameleon circuit's workin' back on my bloody TARDIS," he said. "As usual, his ain't!" he said as he paused beside something that looked to Shavirov like an ordinary blue police kiosk made available for the public by the London Metropolitan Police Department. "And I'd like to know what the hell he's doin' here," barked Melvin as he let Mitzi and Nova go forward to examine the blue police box.

"What does the plaque on the left door say?" asked Nova.

Mitzi looked at the plaque and said, "It's a small door, really. It reads: POLICE TELEPHONE: FREE FOR USE BY PUBLIC. ADVICE & ASSISTANCE AVAILABLE IMMEDIATELY OFFICERS & CARS RESPOND TO URGENT CALLS-PULL TO OPEN."

Nova put her hand against it. "It's humming! Just like Melvin's!"

She jumped back when the door on the right side opened. "They all do that," said as a man in a dark brown tweed jacket, tweed slacks, dark brown fedora, and boots with an incredibly long multi-colored scarf strode out.

"Oh! You're a Time Lord...like him?" asked Nova.

"Yes and no. I'm the Doctor," said the apparently middle-aged man with a big winning smile.

"Doctor? Doctor Who?" asked Nova.

"My name's unimportant at the moment," said the Doctor. "Would you like a jelly baby?"

"I don't know if I should," began Nova.

"K-9, you stay in there, old chap," said the Doctor to something inside the door as he pulled it shut and locked his TARDIS. "You can trust it. We've met before, you and I, and you and Captain Wildstar."

"I don't believe we've met before," began Derek.

"You have...or you will," said the Doctor. "For me it was in the past, about one regeneration ago. For you, it'll be some time in your future, you'll have flag rank then, and I can't say much more about it; something about an autro race. Don't give me that look, Melvin's much worse than I am and you've trusted him, Cosmos knows why. I'm sane. I think. This way, please," said the Doctor as he stuck his hands in his pockets and began to whistle, walking down the corridor as if he had become oblivious to everyone else.

"He's strange," whispered Nova.

"I think he's sort of cute," said Mitzi with a smile. "Bozhe moi, I'm beginning to get tired of just going about by car and by train and by plane."

"Wonder if 'e knows any rock stars," said Hartcliffe.

"You shut up," said Rosstowski. "I think this is more serious than that."

* * *

The first one to approach what appeared to be a very secure set of double doors (guarded by two U.S. Air Force lieutenants) was the Doctor. 

"Sir, this is a restricted area," said the young man to the right of the door. "I'm afraid you'll have to show me some identification."

"I'm Doctor John Smith, Scientific Advisor to U.N.I.T.," said the Doctor brightly. "Some friends of mine are in there, and we don't have a lot of time. Would you fancy a jelly baby?"

"Sir, we've heard of Doctor Smith, but we need to know you're him. The last I saw him, he looked much shorter and entirely different. Could we see some ID, please?"

"Would my TARDIS key do?" asked the Doctor as he dangled a strange-looking pendant before them.

"There's more of them, Jack. Civilians. I think these are protestors of some kind, but how the hell did they get this far?"

"Beats me," said the first officer. "Now, Doctor Whomever-you-are, I'm going to need some ID...and the rest of you... STOP WHERE YOU ARE!" he snapped. "You're in a security zone in a military installation. You'd better have a damn good reason for being here!"

"Is having Earth's future in the balance enough reason for you?" snapped the Doctor in a very imperious tone of voice. "Maybe if you're told bluntly that you may not exist in about sixteen hours from now you'd change your mind?"

"Sir, stop where you are or I may be forced to..."

"Would you quit this row, please?" said a mustachioed officer in a British Army Brigadier General's uniform as he opened the door from the inside and came out.

"Brigadier, maybe you can talk some sense into this walking cucumber. I'm having a bit of a hard time, myself," said the Doctor.

"Lieutenant, if you'll pardon me," said Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. "This man, and his entire party, are all authorised to be here...believe it or not."

"He claims he's the Doctor, sir," said the Lieutenant. "He can't be, unless there's more than one of him. The last time I saw your strange Scientific Advisor, he was a little man with a Beatle haircut, dressed up like a clown, and carrying a recorder that he played all the time."

"You mean this?" asked the Doctor as he pulled out a recorder and began to make some strange noises. "I'm afraid that I don't play as well as I once did; you see, that was two regenerations ago."

"Regenerations?" asked the guard, quite puzzled.

"Special secret technique," lied the Brigadier. "He changes his form every now and then. I know him in this form...he worked with me during the New York Affair three months ago."

The lieutenant finally nodded. "I know of the New York affair," whispered Mitzi, "but...what was it?"

"Cybermen in the New York Underground beneath City Hall station," said the Doctor. "That's during the same time that they were planning yet another invasion through the London Underground. Broke a law of time to show up; the Brigadier was rather shocked at my appearance until I showed him my TARDIS and got my second incarnation on the phone to talk with him, after I finished surprising him, that is. Come to think of it, I'm breaking a law of Time by being here now! My second self is still back at U.N.I.T. HQ in Britain, right?"

"No, he's off again on some journey," said the Brigadier. "Something to do with the Sensorites."

"Oh, yes, nasty business, that. Well, can we go through now, Lieutenant?" demanded the Doctor.

"You're cleared, but not your companions, sir," said the Lieutenant.

"Well, some of them are with me, sir," said Shavirov as she came forward. "And some of them are with him."

"MELVIN?" said the Doctor. "Didn't the Time Lords lock you up for disorderly conduct?"

"We've been talking for the past few days, Doctor. You said you were the Lord President or something like that."

"Oh, yes, I'm playing truant," said the Doctor. "I guess I'll pardon you, by my authority. Anyway, this man and woman are the ones I spoke of, Brigadier, Derek and Nova Wildstar. They're military, too. Working undercover so they're out of uniform."

"Which military?" asked the Brigadier.

"Earth Defence Forces, 23rd Century, beta-gamma time stream," said the Doctor. "Or, I'm sorry, I mean beta-delta. In beta-gamma, your ship was called the Yamato, and you're both quite dead there, thank you. Blew yourselves up with the ship, quite a sacrifice. Believe I played gin rummy or hearts with Avatar once in that time stream. No one ever found out about it, of course. Oh, yes, and there was Timeline beta-sigma, wherein you two ended up on the planet Transsexual in the Galaxy of Transylvania. You don't want to know about that one, trust me. Quite a party the night before at that castle, though."

"Please, Doctor," said the Brigadier. "We're in a rush."

"Exactly," said Captain Wildstar, who was still a bit stunned over the Doctor's latest revelations. He was surprised to be dead in one alternate timeline, and as for the other...well, he didn't want to know what the Planet Transsexual even was. "Lieutenant, this man here is Ensign Paul Rosstowski, and this man is Lieutenant Bryan Hartcliffe. They're under my command, and are also working undercover. Let them in if you please."

The military guard nodded. I got my clearance for this? he thought. Guess they have no airmen or tech sergeants with a clearance high enough to guard this secret room. Of course, he was right.

"These two are my prisoners, Brigadier. Long story," said Mitzi as she walked Doctors Gisewski and Lambert through. "Now, let's get some chairs for everyone, and..."

One of the previously nasty guards nodded and saluted at a signal from his superior, a U.S.A.F. General sitting at a long walnut table in the briefing room. Leaving his comrade alone to guard the room, he went off to get some chairs.

Soon, he got the chairs, and the big walnut doors were closed and locked.

* * *

"This file you and Shavirov took from this Doctor Gisewski proves that a coal region local was killed by an alien being," said one U.S. officer, a Navy Admiral. "But for what end?" 

"I believe I can explain why," said Captain Wildstar.

"Ah, our other Naval officer, in hippie mufti, too." said the Admiral mockingly while Derek gritted his teeth. "Derek, keep calm," whispered Nova. "We're in their headquarters, remember."

"So, you're from a future time?" rumbled one Air Force general at Captain Wildstar.

"That's correct," said Wildstar.

"With all respect," said a female U.S.A.F. general who wore a U.N.I.T. patch, "how we do know you're telling the truth, young man?"

The Doctor let out a disgusted sigh, put aside his yo-yo, and said, "I detected the arrival of their ship in the time stream soon after I was forced down here. I have a picture of their vessel taken from the scanner of my TARDIS, should you desire proof."

The Doctor began pulling things out of his pockets. Nova was amused as he began pulling out what appeared to be junk as he muttered, "An Alpha Centaurian table tennis bat, my old recorder, oh...that's where that Silly String ended up. There's that model of a Klingon battlecruiser, my torch," he said as he pulled out a rusty flashlight, "an autographed picture of Tom Baker, never knew he was talking to the real article when I asked for this, poor chap...and, oh yes, that picture." The Doctor then threw a picture of the Argo onto the walnut table. "Quite a ship, that," he said as the officer looked at the design in amazement. "Constructed in the year 2199, partly from scrap metal. She was built beneath and using some recycled metal from the wreck of the Imperial Japanese Navy flagship Yamato, equipped with an alien drive even I don't fully understand, and she was forced here from the year 2202 through a space-time warp created by accident by a very nasty chap from the Blackeye Galaxy who calls himself the Dark Lord whom I do understand, unfortunately. Fought him to a draw once, so I have a death sentence on my head throughout the Technomugar Empire that he leads. They have to be assisted back to their time, but, unfortunately, one of the Dark Lord's generals pursued them here."

A hubbub broke out in the room. "What is this alien general like?" asked the female general.

"General Ryrie, let them explain it," said the older, normal Air Force general who sat near the Brigadier. "Captain Wildstar, I believe you said your name was?"

"This alien is a cyborg wandering around in disguise on your Earth. He's named Gralnacz, and he also has a one-point two kilometer wide battle fortress hanging about in orbit beyond your moon," said Derek. "He has to be stopped in two ways. His fortress has to be stopped, but we can do that. However, this other Time Lord, Seadragon, says he's plotting an assassination in your time that will affect history."

"All right, old fellow," said Ryrie. "You'll tell me and Lethbridge-Stewart what you're up to, please?"

"I've discovered that Gralnacz is plotting to change history within the next sixteen hours," said Seadragon. "He hopes to incite a world-wide youth revolution by killing Senator Robert Cameron, who is about to announce his candidacy for the President of the United States in next year's election. He hopes to do this by pinning it on the CIA."

"Not the Celestial Inter..." said the Doctor.

"No, the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency," said Seadragon. "His hope is to then incite the world's disaffected youth into a mass revolution that would lead to world-wide martial law as a consequence, complete with concentration camps for the young. Many of the best minds of this time would be wiped out, and the government would become conservative and stop all space-based research to keep order on Earth. When the next major alien invasion begins in 2052, Earth will rapidly fall to this enemy, known as Gamilon, long before even the Daleks get their hands on Earth for a time. In the Gamilon-Dalek war that would result, Earth would be utterly destroyed in a very short time by the depredations of both sides fighting over their captured prize."

Derek sat in shock at that. The Gamilons would take over Earth and allow it to be destroyed? he thought. "Pardon me, who are these 'Daleks'? We've never heard of them before."

"They're evil cyborg warriors who make your Gamilons look like Boy Scouts by comparison," whispered the Doctor. "Nasty bunch; they almost got me quite a few times in the past. Luckily, I was able to put a monkey wrench in their development not long ago when I trapped a nasty fellow named Davros."

"That sounds ridiculous," said Ryrie.

"Well, we've fought other plots that would appear to be as ridiculous," said the Brigadier. "Yet, they were quite credible threats. Would you dismiss a threat to Earth because it doesn't sound right?"

"Score a point for the Brigadier," chuckled the Doctor. "I think you're finally gaining a modicum of intellect, old chap."

"So, how would you get to London in a short time? It's a twelve-hour flight, and there's checkpoints you'd have to get through at EMI Studios and the like..." asked Ryrie.

"The Beatles are opening up their studios to the Press and Senator Cameron tomorrow morning," explained the Doctor. "I've already obtained valid passes for all of us through a valid internal channel."

"Who?" said the Brigadier.

"I'd rather not say," said the Doctor with a smile. "Suffice it to say when I spoke to him, he said, 'This is wild, man, I've got to convince the other three of us that you're quite real. And that, is how we're getting to London, my friends. If we have your authorisation, Brigadier..."

The Brigadier and Ryrie spoke for a minute. "You've got it," said Ryrie a few moments later in shock. "You'll have backup from both the British and American branches of U.N.I.T., of course, and I'll release Miss Shavirov to come with you."

"Thank you," said the Doctor. "Brigadier, don't make the back-up too obvious. We don't need to alert the real reporters, right?"

"Right," said the Brigadier in a disgusted tone of voice. "We'll do this quietly, then."

"Good. Now if you'll excuse us," said the Doctor. "Everyone, follow me, please. Off to my TARDIS."

"Bryan, I think you're about to find out," said Nova with a sly smile

**

* * *

**

**III. ABBEY ROAD**

**EMI-Abbey Road Studios**

**London, England**

**Friday, June 23, 1967 **

**11:30 PM, Local Time**

**

* * *

**

In London, in Abbey Road, Studio Two, the studio had just gone quiet.

The Beatles had been rehearsing for their upcoming TV show with their producer, George Martin. The cavernous studio was now empty, save for an EMI night watchman left behind to guard the studio equipment, amps, and Ringo Starr's drum kit.

"No one will be here until morning," said the night watchman. "I...might as 'ell have a little nip of gin, and get some sleep in me bag..."

The night watchman had his nip, and soon dozed off in his sleeping bag. His snores soon filled the room, but they were blotted out by a strange groaning sound as a shape began to fade into existence near Ringo's drums.

A moment later, the night watchman awoke, only to notice a Metropolitan Police Box standing near the drums.

"Must be some bloody prop they forgot about, what a daft pop group they are," he muttered as he went back to sleep.

* * *

Inside the TARDIS, the Doctor looked at the scene quite carefully on his scanner. "Hmmm...sensors are telling me that there's no one about, just him, and he's quite asleep. We've got you, Melvin, Shavirov, both Wildstars, Mister Rosstowski. I say...where's Mister Hartcliffe?" 

Hartcliffe came in a moment later. "Damn, this place is much bigger on the inside than it is outside. You know what a bloody hike it is to the loo in here?"

"I configured it that way intentionally so that this TARDIS smells nothing like Melvin's," said the Doctor with a toothy grin.

"Arrr...mine's a newer model than this antique," sneered Melvin.

"Yes, but his is much cleaner," said Nova. "No rats in here, either."

"There might be, down in the lowest hold levels," said the Doctor. "However, K-9 does a good job keeping them down there."

"Told ya," crowed Melvin. "Every ship has rats in it."

"Stop blathering about rats and give me a hand, would you, Seadragon? " asked the Doctor. "Fix the ship to these coordinates while we take a look about outside."

Melvin nodded.

The TARDIS door opened, and the Doctor stepped out, shining his torch about. "Help me look for hidden boobytraps, would you?" he whispered.

Shavirov and Lieutenant Wildstar nodded, both young women splitting up to look for hidden devices. Knowing she was taking a risk, Nova decided to tap on each of Ringo's drums a few times.

As Derek walked around, his radio set bleeped. "Captain Wildstar here."

"Wildstar?" asked Venture's voice. "Where are you now?"

"Abbey Road Studio number two, London, Anglia," said Derek helpfully. "It's 1:15 AM, local time, now."

"Captain, you have nine hours and fifteen minutes left before we have to abandon you," said Venture. "Have you gotten close to concluding your mission, yet?

"We're in the right place and time, thanks to the Doctor," said Derek.

"Doctor? Doctor who?" said Venture.

"Not that again," muttered the Doctor. "What an old joke."

"Long story. He's an alien who is helping us fight Gralnacz. We should be done here by 0800 local time. That'll give us plenty of time to get ready to go. We should be giving Gralnacz quite a bad black eye by then, Mark. How's that work on reprogramming our instruments going?"

"Not good," said Venture. "Sandor and IQ-9 are now telling us there's just a 90% chance this'll work right."

"I can make that 100%," said a strange, deep, cheerful British voice as Venture's eyebrows went up.

"Who's that?" asked Homer.

"Just myself, the Doctor," grinned the curly-haired Time Lord. "You need have no worries about getting back. I shall handle that after we take care of Gralnacz."

"Okay," said Venture. "Wildstar, you're sure you've got everything A-OK down there?"

"I'm sure about that. Thanks for asking, though, Venture. You'll see us in a few hours. Wildstar out."

Venture sat in silence as the speaker went dead. "Not again. He's been doing that to me too much in the past day. Wonder if he's in his right mind."

"I wonder if you're in your right mind, Venture," sniffed Homer. "Shouldn't we have left hours ago?"

"While there's life, there's hope," insisted Venture. "Orion! You take command for the next hour. I have to take a break and think about this."

"Aye, sir," said Orion.

* * *

Venture walked off to the Argo's aft observation deck. Leaning against the wooden rail, he stood deep in thought. 

So this is it, he mused. In nine hours, I may have to leave my best friend behind on Earth in the past forever. Funny, how he didn't want to change time...how he claimed this mission he accepted from these strange aliens would preserve the flow of time and help us fight Gralnacz.

Mark sighed and mused, out loud, "But that space fortress is still out there. It seems that Derek did nothing at all, even with this impending sacrifice of his life, and Nova's...and Rosstowski's. And what would I have to do if he comes back and nothing happens? Relieve him of command for insanity? What did he really run into down there in the past?"

Behind Mark, the doors whizzed open. "It's not quite as bad as that, actually. The Captain must have an explanation for this."

"Nova?" mused Mark, who felt embarrassed when he saw he was looking at Holly Parsons. "Sorry, Holly. I thought you were Nova for a minute. She always used to..."

"Come up here and try to talk sense into you and the Captain? She told me all about it, you know," smiled Parsons.

"How? Why?"

"Sir, we've been friends for years, Nova and I, that is. She also told me that you were carrying a torch for her for ages. Is that true?"

"That died when I met Trelaina," huffed Venture. "Probably before."

"By the tone of your voice, I can guess something different. Let's say it was killed the moment the Captain put a gold ring on her finger on December 26th last year?"

"Holly, you're lying."

"Nova told me how you were gazing at her when she came up and stood beside Derek at the altar of that church in Boulder. Was that exactly proper behavior for a best man?"

"She was my second closest friend on this ship, and she made a damn beautiful bride," insisted Venture.

"Let me guess, you're mourning her as well as Wildstar, right?"

"Right...I. No. No...I'm not! They're still alive."

"If they're still alive, why are you mourning, then?"

"Because I might have to put my Captain and best friend in the brig when he shows up. He's acting crazy. Derek knows what kind of fix we're in, so why doesn't he get his butt back up here?"

"You said he had something to do. And, besides, wouldn't Doctor Sane have to pass on whether or not Derek went screwloose down there in the Swinging 60's?"

"He must've gone crazy...hell, he's got Nova believing this weird delusion, too. I thought the lady had a better head on her shoulders than that. Normally, she's one of the most skeptical of the lot of us...has to check facts first."

"Maybe it's not a delusion, then, Mark."

"Holly, what do you mean by that?"

"Think about it. After all, Nova helped to train me quite a while back. Think about it, Mark," said Holly as she gave him a shy pat on the hand. "Oh, if I were you, I'd get some sleep. We're going to need it in the morning when the Captain comes back."

"You're sure he'll come back?"

Holly just nodded. "Good night, Mark," she said softly. "And one more piece of advice?"

"Yes?"

"Put down those two torches you have...for Trelaina and Nova. They're keeping you in the past...and keeping you from seeing what could happen in the future. Good night, Mark."

At that, Parsons left.Now what does she mean by that? Venture thought with a shake of his head.

* * *

Nova woke up from a bad dream in her sleeping bag, still fully dressed save for her sandals (after all, she was sleeping in mixed company). "Derek?" she whispered to the sleeping bag beside her. "Derek?" 

"What?" he said with a start. "Oh, just you, Nova. Whazzup?"

"Had an awful dream," she murmured, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"What about?"

"My Aunt Yvona...the way she was when she was younger. Strange dream. In this dream, she was on this interstellar fortress, and she was in a strange uniform, and she was torturing me on some kind of bed."

"Nova, we all have bad dreams...wish I could do more to help...sorry."

"Sorry?"

"Sorry I'm so gruff, I mean...the Doctor said we have to be up by 0700. It's 0400 local time now. He said that he's arranged for us to talk with Lennon first...that he'll show up first. Favored interview and all that?"

"I know, but this dream was terrible, Derek! It felt like it was really happening! Could I be seeing the future?"

"Perhaps you might be," yawned the Doctor from his sleeping bag. "Sorry...I was just listening. I've a lot of planning to do, and I have to take an ancillary role in the TARDIS."

"Why?" asked Derek and Nova together.

"Two reasons. I'd be spotted, remember, I'm wanted by these people, and, secondly, I got a communication in my mind from Gallifrey while I slept. I'm supposed to limit my involvement."

"Galli-where?" asked Nova.

"Gallifrey. My home planet, and Melvin's too, after a fashion. It's the citadel of all of the Time Lords, located 29,000 light-years away in the Constellation of Kasterbouros, you know, the one your scientists just renamed. When they tell me to begin butting out, I don't like it, but they have ways of making me listen. You see, I'm a renegade from that planet. A renegade on something of a short leash."

"Why?" asked Nova. "I thought you said you were the President, or something."

"I am...but the circumstances are a bit odd. I should be back there running the Government, but instead, I'm out here wandering time and space, like I did long ago when I fled with my grand-daughter Susan. They got me before and they could get me again. The Time Lords have been sticking their noses into my life a lot lately. That's why I'm Lord President right now. It's a stratagem. A stratagem that kept me from being disintegrated back on Gallifrey because I was a wanted man there."

"I thought you said you were helping us," said Derek.

"I will be...I just can't be so obvious about it," said the Doctor as he pulled his boots on and got up. "Which reminds me...the TARDIS is calling. Have to get ready for takeoff and all that, and for fixing your ship. Remember, I'm still your getaway car, so to speak."

"Doctor, thank you," said Derek. "What about Melvin?"

"He's another page, in another volume about the history of the Time Lords. Not one of our better ones, I'm afraid. An old friend of mine, or should I say...former friend, fathered him in a megalomaniac moment of his on an alien world long ago. The things my former classmates get involved in...but you can trust Seadragon. To an extent."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Derek.

"If you're ever around Melvin and a nasty chap with a black beard and black outfit shows up, let Melvin have his way with him, all right? Be careful."

At that, the Doctor stepped inside his TARDIS, not explaining any further.

"What did he mean by that?" asked Derek.

Nova simply shrugged. "Wish I knew what was going on with these dreams."

"Me too," said Derek as he suddenly held her.

Nova shut her eyes and let a few tears run down her cheeks as she mumbled, "Derek," and enjoyed the solace of his arms. The two of them fell asleep again cuddled against each other.

* * *

At 0700, Derek Wildstar woke up again, only to notice the Doctor up and about, sharing tea with a figure in a psychedelic fur-trimmed coat that Derek had to stare at for a moment. He looked a bit like Bryan Hartcliffe, sans the mustache, but Derek noticed that this man seemed to really need his glasses, and that his Liverpool accent was somewhat sharper and more sarcastic than Hartcliffe's. It sounded almost Irish. 

"So did you have any trouble getting the press passes for all of us that I have?" asked the Doctor.

"Right, I got 'em quite easily. Said they were for me friends. Doctor, thanks for savin' my life that time...back in Hamburg the last time we were there, right after we recorded "Love Me Do."

"Don't mention it. I knew how important you would be to the time-stream, you and the others. Do they believe in me yet?"

"Hell no. When I mentioned you last night, Macca almost put me away as a booby, even though Ritchie believed me. By the way, how should I wake our friends up? Should I use the boot?" he laughed evilly.

"No, how about singing to them?" suggested the Doctor.

"Can't do that, mate." said the Doctor's friend. "Wish I could talk, but I have to get goin'....bloody...press conference in Studio Three, what an ungodly hour."

At that, Bryan Hartcliffe woke up. He noticed the man, and his mouth fell open. "Hey, man, can I 'ave your autog..."

"I'm sorry," said the other Liverpudlian. "No time for that. And Eppy'll have me guts for garters if I'm late. Got to get out of 'ere before the birds wake up. I don't need any more screamin' ones hangin' on me today..."

At that, the Doctor's friend left. Nova awoke a moment later. "Derek, who was that? I just dreamed that one of the..."

"That was one of them," said Derek.

"NO!" said Nova with a grin.

"It was."

"Who?"

Derek whispered the reply in her ear.

"Rats, I wanted it to be Paul. He's the cute one."

"Hon, we've got work to do...and why were you looking?"

"Sweet revenge for you and Mitzi before..."

"Silly..."

Nova just giggled softly.

A moment later, someone else came in.

He was a man in a suit with wavy hair and a distinctive Boston accent. "Oh?" he said. "They've left?"

The Doctor nodded. "Press conference."

"No problem...I don't get along well with the mouthy one with the glasses anyway. He turned to Wildstar..."I was told to expect you; Robert Cameron, United States Senator..."

"Derek Wildstar," replied the young Captain, aware that he was shaking hands with history here. "I believe you were told who we are?"

Cameron nodded. "And who's the lovely lady here?"

Wildstar cleared his throat. "My colleague...and wife...Nova."

"Enchanting name," said the handsome Kennedy-clan relative with a smile. Nova noticed he looked much like his late cousin Robert, the former Attorney General, and guessed that in an alternate timeline, the other Robert might well have ran for President himself. Nova ran some notes through her mind. She knew that Cameron's mother, one of the Kennedys, had some emotional problems in this timeline of theirs. She thought that the Doctor had told her that in another timeline, the same Kennedy had been severely retarded and had never married. Nova was too distracted to notice what happened next.

To her shock, Robert Cameron took her hand and kissed it despite a glare from Derek.

"Hey," said Nova with a laugh. "Don't mess with me, Senator...I know aikido!"

"Regular or Venusian?" asked the Doctor who sat down with his floppy hat over his face.

"How can you learn Aikido on a planet where everything is as hot as molten lead?" asked Nova.

"Venus isn't necessarily as bad where I come from," said the Doctor. "Like to hear a Venusian lullaby? No, it'd put you to sleep. We need you awake and alert. When you buckle on those sandals of yours, put on this badge. This is your cover as a member of the Fourth Estate."

Nova blushed. In her rush to get up and meet the very famous musician who had been in the room, she had forgotten that not only was she still in bare feet, but also had forgotten to comb her hair. After combing her shoulder-length locks and sliding into her sandals, she took the badge. When Rosstowski woke up, he was too awed by the sight of Cameron to say more than "Good morning, sir."

Cameron nodded back. He smiled, saying, "Hold on a minute." When he gave Rosstowski his badge, there was included a slip of paper with his signature on it. "Here's my autograph."

"Thanks," said Rosstowski. Then, he went over to the drum kit and looked down, reading the two-word group name on the skin attached to the Ludwig set. "Holy crap!" he said. "Are they coming in here?"

"You slept through one of them coming in here," said Wildstar.

"Darn it!"

Cameron then went to Hartcliffe. "Oh, another hippie?" he said.

"Yep."

"And a Liverpudlian, too. Nice to know Liverpool still survived to your time. Is Penny Lane still around?"

"Sort of. When they bombed the city, they sorta rebuilt it up the Mersey a little. But it's still at the mouth."

"Interesting," said Cameron.

Hartcliffe saw a guitar around. He picked up the Rickenbacker and strummed it. "Hey, if you don't mind, let me demonstrate me guitar skills for you. I'm in a band, too." He looked at the guitar and said. "Damn...this is me idol's guitar!"

"Yes, perhaps you'd better put it down," said Cameron

"Right. I don't want no instant karma hittin' me upside the head..."

"Don't worry too much...you're here to guard me, not play a concert," said Cameron. "Now for you, Mitzi?"

"You know my name?" asked Shavirov.

"Of course. After all, the Doctor told me."

"Right..."

**

* * *

**

**Here ends Part Six of Fixing a Hole**


	7. Act Seven conclusion

**ALTERNATE TALES OF THE STAR FORCE**

**STAR BLAZERS---****FIXING A HOLE**

**Being the second part of THE RIKASHA INCIDENT--- BY: Frederick P. Kopetz**

* * *

**ACT SEVEN-THE END **

* * *

**I. PLOTTING EVIL ON THE _SUKALNACH_**

**Technomugar Goraizu Fortress _Sukalnach_**

**Lunar Orbit**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-6:12 AM (London Time)**

* * *

Darryl Mansford of Hazleton, PA had never suffered such heartbreak and agony in his life. He had guessed that in a matter of time he would have been drafted and most likely sent to Vietnam, since he had no college plans. He didn't oppose the war, but he had heard enough to know he would have had a hellish time if the North Vietnamese had captured him.

However, in his worst dreams, he had never anticipated that he would see his father killed in front of him, and that he would be captured by...space aliens, some of whom looked vaguely human (but with weird ghastly colors), and some of whom looked like walking suits of armor with glowing eyes.

They had done nothing for the stump of his leg except burned it shut with some ghastly instrument. Then, they had stripped him of all of his clothes and placed him on some iron-grated bed, but they were giving him no medical treatment. Instead, they had tortured him with a whip, and then with some kind of electrical device, and then by more horrid means he didn't even know existed in this universe outside of Hell.

_They're back to the electricity again, oh my God,_ he thought as he lay under some arched metallic thing that covered him from his toes to his collarbone with something like a coffin lid.

One of the alien officers came in again, grinning. "Mansford. Your answers are _far_ from satisfactory. Gralnacz the Benevolent is losing patience with you as he has something important to do. Where are you from, _again_?"

"Hazleton, Pennsylvania. I was born in the year 1949. I just graduated from high school last year. I'm eighteen years of age."

"Is that a special school for intelligence officers?"

"No, it's a school for idiots...like you!!"

Gralnacz nodded, and the electricity flowed through Darryl again. He screamed.

"I, _Lektat _Prenas, servant of the merciful High Protector Gralnacz, and of our God, the Lord Ekogaru, think that's a _terrible_ answer, _boy!_ Would you like to join your father in the place you call Hell?"

"Go ahead and kill me; I'm not afraid to die! You jokers look like something from _Lost in Space!_"

"No, we won't kill you," said Gralnacz. "We'll make you one of us, after you answer every one of our questions _satisfactorily._ Then, as an immortal, we can find new ways to torment you. Maybe even the Lord Ekogaru himself will have some fun with you. But, answer us this. _Did you know there was an Earth ship there, in the cave?_ " he roared. **_"Did you see it land, you organic piece of pond scum?_**"

"No...I...didn't," gasped Darryl.

"He's lying, Lord," said Prenas.

"No...he's not. I'm in his mind," said Gralnacz as Darryl cried and whimpered with the pain of this dark **_thing_** in his head. "The fool really was there by chance. Do you think he'll make a soldier, or should we cast him into space?"

"He might be fun to torment. We can turn off as much of him as possible when we rebuild him."

"All right, fool, Darryl," said Gralnacz pleasantly. "You'll be fed. We need your shriveled mind healthy for rebuilding. You might meet your President Johnson and Premier Kosygin from the Soviet Union soon, too. Like to see them die? Would you like to see us blow up the one Earth ship here from the future to try to defend Earth? Like to see your rotten little civilization _die?" _asked Gralnacz happily.

"Let me out of this thing...let me at you," gasped Mansford.

"Sure, _when pigs fly_, as you Earthers say!" hissed Gralnacz before he slapped Darryl across the face and went away laughing.

"_Bastards!_" cried Darryl. "I'll _get_ you!"

All Darryl heard before he went unconscious again was the evil laughter of Gralnacz and his subordinate.

* * *

**II. MORE BUSINESS**

**EMI-Abbey Road**** Studios**

**London****, England**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-7:26 AM (London Time)**

* * *

"So, here we go," said Cameron. "I see you getting ready. About time for the bad people to show up?"

Nova nodded.

"Oh, if only I could deal with them with a filibuster," said Cameron wistfully. "Like the way I dealt with Strom Thurmond some time back."

"This is war, not the floor of the Senate, sir," said Rosstowski. Derek Wildstar came up. "Mitzi, I have Mr. Hartcliffe and Mr. Rosstowski by the main doors with the security guard."

"Good," she said with a nod. Derek and Nova casually got out their blasters, and they noticed that Melvin, standing at the far end of the studio, was getting a weapon of his own.

"Since we're all set, I'll be standing by in my TARDIS," said the Doctor. "When we traveled here, I picked up Melvin's. I'll be your ride out, and will rematerialise when Gralnacz is dealt with."

"Why aren't you staying?" asked Mitzi. The others had that question on their minds, too. Captain Wildstar was beginning to get the feeling that, somehow, one could trust this particular Time Lord in a tight spot.

"I've got my orders, but not from U.N.I.T, I'm afraid. The Time Lords; they're getting into my head and telling me "NO". I have an argument with them, I'm afraid, and it's an argument I mean to win. I'm afraid I _must_ dematerialize the ship; at least for a time. Further, I have other reasons, too complex to elucidate _now!_" shouted the Doctor as he slammed the door of his TARDIS shut with some degree of anger.

"Yeah, sure," growled Melvin, who nodded glumly as the Doctor's TARDIS faded out with its characteristic whining sound. "Remember, ya got my TARDIS, ya stupid goody-goody!" he yelled as the police box disappeared.

"I don't think he can answer you now, Melvin," said Derek. "He's gone, for the moment..."

"Well, let's just wait for the Press, then, " said Cameron's assistant, a man named Junkins. "and hope that assassin doesn't sneak..."

"No, the assassin is coming first," said Cameron.

"How do you know that?" asked Junkins.

"I just know," said Cameron. "I've been briefed, and, besides, I've been in the Navy myself like Uncle Jack...I just..."

Bobby's words were cut off by a noise near one of the emergency exit doors to the back.

"Huh?...I..."

The sound was that of a laser bolt, green, splitting the air. A moment later, the exit door flew open and four troopers in green camo-patterned battle armor broke in, followed by Gralnacz, who was back in his "hippie" garb of blue denim but carrying a rather large weapon.

"Troopers...we've taken care of the U.N.I.T. detachment out back in the trees behind the main gate!" snapped Gralnacz. "You get the Time Lord and the Terrans...on debilitating stun, of course. I want them alive for interrogation! Got that?"

At that, the enemy advanced.

* * *

Wildstar dragged Cameron behind an equipment case as the fighting started. Nova fell back behind a speaker stack, firing quick bursts at the troopers. She got one; Derek had just gotten another.

"Mind if I get back here?" asked Mitzi as she stumbled behind the stack.

"Careful, you'll knock it over."

Mitzi fired again, missing a trooper. "Rats," she said. "Nova, if you can ever choose, never get into a running battle in a miniskirt."

"Right now, we _can't_ choose!" cried Nova as she just dodged the trooper's fire with some help from Derek, who was being quite protective of her. The trooper fell over a moment later; Rosstowski had gotten it from behind.

Near the drum kit, a brutal scene was taking place; the fourth trooper was down, and Melvin was stomping on his neck as hard as he could. A second later, something snapped, and the trooper went still.

"Four down, one to go," yelled Melvin as he turned his weapon upon Gralnacz. "_Give it up, ya freak!_" he barked as he noticed Derek and Nova backing him up, with their weapons on Gralnacz. "You've been wanted on Gallifrey for a long time, ya moron! You've done more damage to us and to the galaxies than you can_ conceive_! You're a mass murderer and a traitor to your own people on Pellias! Drop it and run!"

"You think I will, you old fool?" mocked Gralnacz as Hartcliffe fired at him but he reflected the shots away. "I have powers that you know nothing of!" he yelled, turning a lightning bolt straight upon Wildstar.

Derek screamed as the lightning hit him, and he collapsed in a heap. _"Derek_!" cried Nova, who turned her weapon upon Gralnacz in a rage while she checked her beloved's pulse with her other hand. _Thank God, he's still alive_...she thought.

"Go ahead, fire it," mocked Gralnacz as he put out one hand and raised another above his head in a strange gesture. "Let's see what'll happen, eh? Do you like murdering people, too? C'mon...I'm _ready_."

Nova tightened her finger on the trigger, just as Melvin barked, "NO!"

A millisecond later, a crash filled Abbey Road Number Two as a figure emerged behind Gralnacz and brought a cymbal down on his head!

Gralnacz fell down like a stone as a smiling Bobby Cameron emerged from behind him with a cymbal in his hands.

Melvin and Nova then began to tend to Derek, who gasped and said, "I'm all right...don't leave that thing alone."

"Derek!" sobbed Nova as she hugged him like a doll while Melvin took Gralnacz's weapon and snapped it in half with his bare hands. "Thanks, Mr. Junkins," he said as Junkins handed him the amp cord from a nearby Hofner Jazz Bass and tied Gralnacz's hands with it after slapping a knife out of his hand.

Grabbing Gralnacz by the neck while Mitzi and Paul Rosstowski held their guns on him, Melvin and Hartcliffe tied him up with other cords lying around the studio.

Trussed like a turkey, Gralnacz was forced to his feet by Melvin, who said, "Get your stinkin' butt back to your ship and warp the hell out of this sector NOW!" Seadragon punctuated his last word by viciously slamming Gralnacz's head against an acoustic baffle.

Gralnacz fell, and then slowly struggled up again, surrounded by a circle of enemies as Nova, a still-stunned Derek, and even Cameron and Junkins scowled at him. "All right," he growled. "I've wasted my energy on you, and these foolish, half-wild humans of the past and present. I will go, but not without a final word or two."

"Make it fast!" barked Derek. "I'm the Captain of the _Argo _and I've got things to do!"

"First, Cameron, we will not meet again, but your accomplishments shall live on for a time. But you will go through hell personally before it is remembered forever, and you will later taste Death at an untimely age. It will not be my doing, and I do not predict, either. I merely _foretell._ Second, Seadragon. You, Time Lord, will have these events and any other meddling you attempt herein explode in your face. And we shall have our reckoning someday, you and I."

"Yes, but who shall lose?" countered Melvin.

"Idiot," hissed Gralnacz. "Finally, you, Derek Wildstar, shall suffer greatly at the hands of Ekogaru. You, too, Nova Wildstar...Bryan Hartcliffe. The Dark Throne shall _never _forget your impudence in striking his anointed servant! And, as for _you,_ Paul Rosstowski, don't feel that you shall ever find love. It will elude you, even though you think you have found it. It, and she, will betray you, just as she betrayed _me._ You shall seek for Death, but shall never find it."

"With that, I leave you! Dance in your pretty little world a while longer! Soon, it shall be dust and ashes!" With those words, Gralnacz faded away, leaving nothing behind.

"We did it," sighed Derek. "We _beat_ him!"

"No," said Melvin. "It's over, here on Earth, for now, but he was partially right."

"Partially?" asked Nova as she protectively helped Derek up and along.

"Some of what he foretold will still happen. And we can't stop all of it," said Melvin quietly as he watched Cameron reaffixing a cymbal to the drums. "He still has his appointment with Destiny," he whispered to Nova.

"Melvin...you _can't_ let that happen! You can't!" whispered Nova as she pulled the Time Lord aside. "For the sake of a better future," she whispered in his ear, "set that time-ship of yours right for New York, Jacob Javits Center, on December 8, 1999, around 11PM. If you stopped _one_ assassin, you can stop _another!_"

What Nova was referring to was the event that would take Robert Cameron's life early in his second run for the Presidency. Oddly enough, this assassination would come nineteen years after one of the other visitors to this room this morning also died violently in New York per an assassin's bullet.

"Wish I could," said Melvin sadly. "can't."

"Why not?" hissed Nova.

"Time Lords can't change everything, nor is it wise to," said Melvin as the Doctor's TARDIS reappeared.

Nova nodded sadly and ran off to check over her husband again.

* * *

After a few minutes, the recording studio was fairly cleaned up, and Cameron and Junkins stood near the door of the Doctor's rematerialized TARDIS shaking hands with their rescuers.

"I wonder if our friends in Studio Three can write a song about this?" asked Junkins flippantly. "I mean, with this broadcast coming up, and with the Press coming here in just a few minutes, we can beat the Government security types and let them know that aliens really exist."

"It may not be wise," said the Doctor.

"Why not?" said Cameron with a wink. "Come on, you have to be a trendsetter sometime. The system is corrupt. We have to change it."

"There's reasons," said the Doctor cryptically. He turned to Melvin and whispered. "You've got this in hand?"

Melvin just nodded, stepping into the TARDIS with a dour look on his face.

"It was an honor meeting you," said Bryan Hartcliffe as he and Paul Rosstowski shook hands with Cameron and Junkins.

"Likewise," said Cameron. He began to clear his throat and adjust his tie. Outside, the sound of screaming girls shook them out of their reverie.

Cameron looked out the window of Abbey Road as a Rolls-Royce, a Bentley, and an Austin Mini drove in. Three young men in psychedelic clothing emerged from the cars and came through the crowd of screaming girls calling their names and demanding autographs.

"Derek, can we open the window and wave?" asked Nova.

"I'm...not sure we have time," said Derek Wildstar with a shake of his head.

"We don't," said the Doctor. Then, everyone stepped into the doorway of the TARDIS.

Nova looked back, just in time to see four young men coming into the studio to shake hands with Cameron. She waved at them before the TARDIS faded out.

Senator Cameron shook his head a moment later, as if he was clearing his eyes.

"What's wrong, Bobby?" asked Junkins.

"Clearing my head. Felt kinda weird for a minute...that's all. Nothing, I guess. I believe we have some artists to tend to?"

"We do," said Junkins. "Geniuses."

* * *

**III. ONE HOUR, TEN MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR**

**The Doctor's TARDIS**

**The Time-Space Vortex**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-9:20 AM (London Time)**

* * *

"Can't we get there _faster?_" protested Captain Derek Wildstar as he lay on a bed in a clean, empty white room, its walls decorated with red roundels, in the immensity of the Doctor's TARDIS. The strange thing about the bed was that it was floating in mid-air. "Nova, I thought he said this thing was some sort of super time-ship!"

"The Doctor says you need a few minutes worth of _rest, _and in here," replied Nova. Wonder of wonders, she had found what seemed to be her vanished Star Force uniform, boots, and regular issue astro-automatic hanging in a huge wardrobe room here in the TARDIS that the Doctor had led her to. She had changed after a quick shower. Derek's uniform and peacoat lay folded in a pile near the foot of his bed. "He says this Zero Room is perfect medicine for what you went through back there in London, and I agree with him. He's bringing you a drink of something that'll help you get your head straight, since we'll be back on the _Argo_ soon."

"How's he gonna land this thing on my ship?" protested Derek while Nova put her hands on her hips and began to huff. "Oh, yeah, dimensional transcandentiality. All that'll appear on the ship will be the Police Box."

"Right," said Nova as the door opened and the Doctor strode in carrying a cup of what seemed to be tea on a saucer. Mitzi came behind him, again wearing what appeared to be her black leather catsuit. She was carrying a basin of steaming water and a towel, washrag, and soap.

"Here we go, just what I ordered," said the Doctor.

"You're as bad as Doctor Sane," said Derek. "How do I know this'll work?"

"Easy: I'm a Doctor of much more than Doctor Sane. I'm a Doctor of law, medicine, astronomy, history, astrophysics, physics, botany, temporal engineering...all the disciplines one has to know," smiled the Doctor. "It's an old remedy from Rikasha, actually, spiced up a little with a few things I learned from Louis Pasteur and Galen. You'll enjoy it; tastes just like herbal tea."

Derek took a sip. "Not bad, and it's clearing my head."

Mitzi put down the bowl. "I think we'd better leave now, Doctor. You get the bed."

The Doctor nodded, winking and tipping his hat as he pulled away the bed, and then left with Mitzi, leaving Derek to float in mid-air as he left him alone with Nova. "Hey!" he cried. "Doctor, is this thing your private funhouse?"

"You should be more grateful, darling," said Nova in a dulcet voice as she began to undo his vest.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked.

"Taking your clothes off. You don't take a bath with your clothes on unless you're weird."

"Nova...stop treating me like a infant!"

"Derek, your muscles are incredibly tight, and we still have over an hour left. Let's get you out of these clothes, clean and into your uniform, okay?"

"Well...I..."

"Besides, you might get a laugh out of my giving you a sponge bath in zero-G. Since we're alone.. I can give it a special tender touch," she said, kissing him. "Now relax and enjoy this. It won't take that long."

With a resigned smile, Derek gave in to his wife's care. After all, she _was_ one of the EDF's best nurses...

* * *

**IV. FIFTY-SIX MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR**

**Briefing Room**

**Technomugar Goraizu Fortress _Sukalnach_**

**Lunar Orbit**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-9:36 AM (London Time)**

* * *

Gralnacz stood in the briefing room of his ship, struggling as his subordinates attempted to untie him. "**FREE ME, YOU FOOLS!**" he yelped while hopping around in his worn engineer boots.

"Lord, your peace sign button has fallen off," said Kommandant Trajan, his second-in-command.

"Never mind that! Just release me from my bonds, you poor excuses for officers! You should be thrown in the _Shi'raglak_ pits for this idiotic behavior!"

"He's trying, Lord," said Karlas, the _Lektat_ whom Gralnacz had been speaking to several hours ago when he had been sending his fleet after the _Argo_, back when he _had_ a fleet, of course.

"Do you wish to join him, Karlas?" yelped Gralnacz. "I have 2,000 men on this ship, and you three idiots have to be my Command Staff?"

"Let's just burn him loose with blasters," suggested Prenas. "That way, I can get back to tormenting the Terran before we attack the _Argo_. I've learned a new torture method. It involves using bird plumage, called feathers, and tickling the bottom of the young Terran's sole existing bare foot with them! We'll drive him mad and drive him into submission at the same time! Then that'll allow me enough time to have our gun-crews ready for the Star Force."

"I like the idea of drilling holes in the Earther's skull, myself," suggested Karlas. "Let's get the wire cutters. These look like wires, so we should be able to cut them with these and free our Lord High Protector."

"Hurry! This is _humiliating!_" snapped Gralnacz.

They freed Gralnacz a moment later. Gralnacz slapped each member of his staff, and then sat down. "Now, Karlas, where's the _Argo_?"

Karlas waved his hand, and a hologram appeared over the round table. "This is their moon, or companion world, sir. If we zoom in to two hundred of their kilometers, normalizing measures to theirs so we can predict their actions, they're in planetary synchronous orbit, right at this point, on the so-called "dark side" of their planet's dead, runty twin world. We're above them, in 2000 of their kilometers, and we have fifty of their time-klicks, called "minutes", to intercept them, disable them, and take them in tow back to our time."

"Not a lot of time, but it's doable. Any Time Lord interference?" queried Gralnacz.

"None, Lord," said Trajan. "I think the Doctor decided to cut and run, sir. Typical Time Lord trick. Same with Melvin. They have this habit, you are aware, of using others to serve their purposes and forgetting them altogether. What a dishonorable bunch of meddlers, sir."

"Aye, rightly told," said Gralnacz. "Trajan, Karlas, ready an invasion party. Board their bridge and take control of the ship after we stop its engines. Your job, Prenas. Karlas, you chart their course and communications and sneak up on them. A quick warp should do it. Got that?"

"Yes, sir. There's a two-percent chance of systems failure. We have taken damage. We need a shipyard, sir, before attempting battle again. I think we should leave the _Argo_ for another day."

"That's your opinion. Denied. Carry out my orders!"

"Yes, Lord," said Karlas.

"Any other objections?" asked Gralnacz. "Any questions?"

"Sir, that button on your left lapel? What does **_INSTANT KARMA'S GONNA GET YOU_** mean?"

"I need a proper uniform," muttered Gralnacz. "Part of my disguise, Karlas, you fool! Ohhh! Lord Ekogaru, here I stand, surrounded by fools and morons! Please deliver me, O Lord!"

* * *

**V. FORTY-TWO MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR**

**The Doctor's TARDIS**

**The Time-Space Vortex**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-9:48 AM (London Time)**

* * *

"Is it ready?" asked the Doctor as Captain Derek Wildstar and Lieutenant Nova Wildstar came into TARDIS Control Room #1, now both in uniform. They noticed Melvin working under the six-sided grey and white control console in the center of the gleaming white control room.

"Cable's almost set," growled Melvin. "Time-stream readings correct for download."

"Where are you going to download this data?" asked Paul Rosstowski, now back in his normal Star Force uniform, along with Bryan Hartcliffe.

"Into the _Argo's_ main computer to retune it," said the Doctor. "The dump will take about ten of your minutes; it'll take three minutes for me and your engineers to connect the cables."

"That's the total amount of time we have left?" asked Wildstar as he looked at a screen on the TARDIS console.

"Right...forty minutes," said the Doctor. "I calculated that by analyzing the signature of the warp corridor with my instruments."

"How soon will we be there?" asked Nova.

"One minute. I'm putting us right into your Mechanical Group control lab, near your Boat Bay."

"I've got to leave first. My TARDIS awaits," said Melvin, gesturing towards a rusty, battered brown thing that looked like a metal clothes locker. It bore a battered bumper sticker on one side that read, "**MEMBER-NATIONAL HOBO SOCIETY**" in Terran English. "That's my TARDIS. Gotta get the heck outta here."

He and Mitzi hugged. Hartcliffe and Rosstowski shook hands with the old man and muttered thanks. Derek took his hand and said, "Thank you. Your errand was...a bit strange, but we were grateful for the chance to save Earth...even in our past."

"Don't mention it, Skipper. Look on your ship for all the rats!"

Derek ground his teeth as Melvin turned to Nova. "Goodbye, hon, if I can be so bold. Take good care of that messy-haired S.O.B., Nova."

"I will," she said as she reluctantly let the old man hug her.

"This ain't the last time we'll meet, Nova. See ya again, kid."

Before Nova could say anything else, Melvin let go, went into his TARDIS, and made it fade out of the area with a sound somehow higher and faster than that of the Doctor's TARDIS.

"Goodbye, and good riddance," muttered the Doctor to himself with a smile as he quietly saluted Melvin's TARDIS while it faded away. "Thirty seconds to the _Argo_," said the Doctor. Wildstar and his fellow officers began to check themselves to make sure they had everything they needed. Unnoticed, Mitzi nodded quietly to the Star Force members and disappeared through a door into the depths of the TARDIS.

"Ten seconds, everyone," said the Doctor as he turned on the scanner and the crew suddenly noticed a weird background of swirling colors that happened to be centered around the familiar shape of the _Argo_. "Commence landing sequence. Captain, you'd better be the first one out. I don't want them to shoot me."

Derek nodded.

* * *

**VI. THIRTY-NINE MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR**

**Space Battleship _Argo_**

**Mechanical Group Control Lab**

**Lunar Orbit**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-9:51 AM (London Time)**

* * *

"Venture," said Stephen Sandor while leaning over a computer console in the _Argo's_ vast Mechanical Group Control Lab. "Here's the warp profile. I did all the fine-tuning I could manage, including calculating the gravitational rebound effect of that damned Fortress hanging up in orbit."

"Do you know where it is?"

"No, Venture. But I can guess where it's at. If it remains on the course that Parsons plotted, and doesn't pick up speed, we'll have a five-minute window to get away from it at 0525 Hours, New York Time."

"That'll be 1025 Hours, London Time," muttered Venture. "No way they can get back now. Not without a miracle."

"Mark," said Sandor as he put a hand on Venture's arm. "You've steeled yourself to that already...haven't you?"

Venture nodded.

"Maybe he'll pull something out of his hat," said Sandor. "God, you know Derek's amazing luck!"

"I...don't know," said Venture, the tone of his voice indicating he didn't want to talk much about it. "Sandor, what's the probability we'll make it now?"

"Ninety-one percent," said Sandor. "I was able to tweak it...a little," he said while switching to an image of the Goraizu Fortress. "That'll be the biggest problem of all, getting around that thing."

Venture nodded glumly. Closing his eyes, he flipped up a communications microphone and said, "Attention, all hands. Begin final internal preparations for space warp. Monitor all communications channels and radar for any approaching boats or vessels up until 0513. Secure...all external hatchways at 0515 Hours. That'll be all."

_Well, if they aren't back by 0515, that's the end...we'll have to leave them here! Oh, God, we did all we could...._ thought Venture.

Mark and Steve just nodded to each other as Sandor went back to his work.

* * *

Suddenly, a very strange noise resounded throughout the lab. All of the computer screens flashed bright blue as the loud wheezing noise grew louder and a strange shape began to appear a few meters away from the console that Sandor and Venture were working at.

Artwork-TARDIS on the _Argo_-Assembled by computer by Frederick P. Kopetz

From _Yamato_ and _Doctor Who_ artwork.

Both officers had their sidearms drawn and leveled on the object before it finished materializing.

When it solidified, Venture snapped, "Alien intruder! Come out of there with your hands UP! NOW!"

The door slowly opened, and with their fingers tightening on the triggers of their guns, Venture and Sandor warily watched as...

_...Captain Wildstar...?_

...strode out with his hands up, followed by Nova.

"What the hell is _that?_" gasped Venture. "Captain...Lieutenant...is that you?"

"No, Mark, I'm Puffy the Snail," said Derek in a very sarcastic tone of voice. "I know you don't believe me, but you can stop pointing that astro-automatic at us."

"Nova?" gasped Sandor.

"No, Steve, I'm IQ-9. I just lost a lot of weight and put on Nova's clothes," smiled Nova.

"What's that thing?" asked Sandor.

"My TARDIS," said the Doctor as he strode out behind Derek and Nova and the guns went back up. "_Pooh!_ What a _poor_ way to treat your Captain's guest!"

"Captain's guest?" repeated Venture.

"Yes, he's one of the aliens who helped us," said Derek while setting his Captain's hat down on a desk. "We accomplished our mission back down on Earth by saving Senator Cameron and restoring the course of history to its original form. With help from the Doctor and Melvin, the aliens who selected us for this mission and aided us, all traces of our presence in the past on Earth have been erased, and the time-stream has been restored. As Captain Avatar taught us in such emergency situations, our past will now evolve normally, as long as we disable _that_ ship, of course," said Derek as he pointed at the ugly Fortress on Sandor's screen. "Oh, by the way, as of now, 0500 Hours, Megalopolis Standard Time and EDF Space Time, I am reassuming command. You sounded skeptical of our mission before, Venture," said Derek. "No objections, I trust?"

Venture and Sandor shook their heads.

As Hartcliffe and Rosstowski stepped out of the TARDIS, Venture yelled, "All hands! Captain on deck! _Attention!_" Just as quickly, he, Sandor, Nova, Hartcliffe and Rosstowski saluted.

"Thank you, Commander," said Derek. "Command reassumed at 0501 Hours. Now, we've got something to do. Doctor?"

"Doctor who?" asked Venture.

"This is getting just a little tiresome," grinned the Doctor. "I'm a Time Lord. If I told you my full name, you'd never be able to pronounce it! Should I ever see you again, just call me the Doctor. My ship, the TARDIS, is a time-space vessel. I got interested in this situation due to the disturbances your ultimate enemy, Lord Ekogaru, was causing in the flow of time and space. As I know you've taken some damage, I can restore your temporal instruments to 100% efficiency and accuracy. I'll do this by dumping the proper base time-space warp curve information from my ship, the TARDIS, into your computers to reset the critical timing malfunction and let your confused ship know exactly where and when it is so you can calculate your warp. Time is of the essence. I have to be out of here in twenty minutes or you don't have a chance."

"Can we trust him?" asked Venture.

Derek nodded. "Sandor, open up the maintenance hatch."

"You'll have to direct me a little, Doctor," said Sandor. "I'm not sure I fully understand your science."

"Well, I don't fully understand how your Iscandarian Wave Motion Engine works, so we're even," said the Doctor. "However, your temporal controls operate on the same general schematic and functions as those of a Type 36 TARDIS. Mine's a Type 40, and Melvin was able to read your computer protocols, so the TARDIS and the _Argo_ will talk to each other just fine with a little coaxing. Let's get to it!"

* * *

**VI. TWENTY-SIX MINUTES TO ZERO HOUR**

**Space Battleship _Argo_**

**Mechanical Group Control Lab**

**Lunar Orbit**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-10:04 AM (London Time)**

* * *

Artwork-Unexpected Allies-Assembled by computer by Frederick P. Kopetz

From _Yamato_ and _Doctor Who_ artwork.

* * *

The Doctor stood a few meters away from Sandor and Venture with the linkup cable in his hand as the two men worked feverishly to reset the _Argo'_s warp systems to accept the revised data the Doctor was going to download from the TARDIS.

"That's it," said Venture. "that's the last mass figure for the alien fortress," he said as IQ-9, at another panel behind him, chirped, "All protocols for the main parallel DAC port are open and ready."

"Now for the data," said the Doctor portentously as he came up to the open panel with the port coupling. On Sandor's screen, a graphic reading **READY FOR INPUT** appeared.

"We normally do this only in a shipyard," said Sandor. "We had to do it once in space on our first mission by downloading that data from the wreck of an enemy ship."

"The remains of one of those Gamilon carriers at Rainbow Galaxy?" asked Venture. Sandor nodded as the Doctor inserted the cable to a port that Sandor was pointing at. The Doctor pressed a small button on the connector, and Sandor flipped down a huge breaker switch normally covered with glass.

The screen went blank, and, immediately, a series of numbers, random letters, and figures began to pour down the _Argo's_ lab screen at an extremely rapid pace.

"You've now got just a ten-minute wait, than you can warm reboot your warp computers, read in the data for the warp curve you have in memory cell location 16234, and off you go!" said the Doctor with a smile.

Wildstar was alone with Sandor, Venture and the Doctor in the lab, with Nova and Rosstowski having headed for the bridge on his orders, and Hartcliffe sitting at alert-five in a Cosmo Tiger cockpit. "What a transfer rate!"

"Luckily, this old girl knows how to work fast when things get a bit tight," smiled the Doctor, patting the side of the "police box". Wildstar still couldn't accept that thing was really an advanced space-time ship. He was beginning to wonder if that was the same way their enemies felt about the _Argo_.

Derek sipped at a cup of water as he watched the data flashing across the screen. "So how did it go down there on old Earth?" asked Venture.

"It was really strange. Old fossil-fuel cars, trains that still ran on metal tracks, propeller airplanes, 1-dimension TV sets that still used vacuum tubes, and some of them were still in black and white, and the way people talked, and the strange permutations of classical music. Interesting time..."

"Earth Defense is never going to believe this report," said Venture.

"They'll have to. We have hard evidence. Sandor, you've got the old clothes that Hartcliffe brought off the TARDIS for analysis?"

Sandor nodded. "Hard to believe they made clothes out of those primitive fibers."

"Two minutes to go," said the Doctor.

Derek nodded, but had to restrain himself from jumping a moment later as the alert klaxons went off.

"Doesn't sound good," said the Doctor.

"It's not," replied Captain Wildstar as he ran to an internal communications screen. "Mechanical lab, Captain here. What's up?" he demanded.

"Captain," said Dash, whom Derek had assigned as Officer of the Deck on the first bridge. "Nova's got a radar contact. It's that enemy fortress. Big, black, and ugly."

"_Crap_," muttered Wildstar.

"And we've got a communication. He wants to talk to you, alone."

"Patch him down here

As Derek waited for the picture to come through, he heard Venture saying, "Doctor, that's going into the actual course cells!"

"Just a little adjustment. Trust me," smiled the Doctor. "Thirty seconds left."

Ignoring this, Wildstar waited as Gralnacz's image came up on his small screen. "_Having a wonderful day, Captain_?" said Gralnacz mockingly.

"It'd be better if _you _weren't here," said Wildstar.

"Things can only get worse. See this?" said Gralnacz as an image of the Earth appeared.

"Yes," said Wildstar as the smiling Doctor undid the cable and whispered something in his ear. "My friend just told me to tell you we're quite aware that down there is Sol Three, Mutter's Spiral."

"Keep him busy," whispered the Doctor. "Just advice. Must run, sorry. Seven minutes left, old chap. Get him rattled."

Derek nodded as the Doctor abruptly took off into the TARDIS with his cable and rapidly shut the door.

"You're not even saying goodbye?" piped up IQ-9. "How rude!"

"Well?" asked Gralnacz. "You know it'll take me just seven minutes to aim all my guns on that planet and blow it apart? You think your friend with the long scarf can help you? Think again. He's a vagabond on the run from his own race, a criminal, and a _bum_. Like that?"

_Keep on talking, smart guy,_ smiled Derek while he thought to himself_. We're outta here in six and a half minutes!_

"Why are you smiling?" asked Gralnacz as Venture, with a nod, programmed in the warp curve from the panel and took off for the bridge. "Are you mentally defective, Wildstar? Maybe you won't be such a good prospect for conversion? Maybe we should just kill you?"

Sandor nodded at the panel, shutting it down as the TARDIS faded away into nothingness with that weird groaning sound Derek had now just become accustomed to. The Russian then took off for the bridge.

"How fun. Your friend just abandoned you. Should I go after him, smiling boy?" said Gralnacz.

_Four minutes_ thought Derek_. Now all I have to do is trick him into keeping_ _our minds on us for a bit. He can pursue us, but when he goes into that warp, he's gone, according to the Doctor. Nice plan, and I'll carry it out by ticking him off._

"Smiling boy," mocked Gralnacz. "You know, you'll be the laughing stock of two galaxies when we have you in a reconstruction jar. Why are you smiling?"

_Three minutes_ thought Derek as he heard Venture saying, "Attention, all hands...prepare for warp! All hands to their warp positions!" _Now, for the knife..._ smiled Derek.

'"You've researched Earth. You know our gestures, right?" said Wildstar.

"Right. How interesting. A sociology lesson from an idiot. We're going to finish you soon, anyway. What's the point?"

"Not much. You can understand what I'm about to say, then?"

"Yes, spit it out. Are you going to pray to me for mercy?" chuckled Gralnacz.

"Nope, I'm just gonna say this, then I'll have to run, Gralnacz," smiled Derek. "Come and get me...if you can!"

Then, with a big, big smile, Derek Wildstar made a quick gesture with his right hand that involved his middle finger. Namely, his middle finger was up in the air...at attention.

"And eat it, Gralnacz! Got it! You'll never get us!" shouted Wildstar.

Derek smiled again as Gralnacz howled the most twisted howl of rage he had heard since he had last had a talk with Zordar.

Derek flipped off the screen, yelled to Homer, "Cut this line! NOW!" and ran for the nearest lift.

* * *

**VI. FORTY-FIVE SECONDS TO ZERO HOUR**

**Technomugar Goraizu Fortress _Sukalnach_**

**Bridge**

**Lunar Orbit**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-10:29:15.0 AM (London Time)**

* * *

"He mocked me!" roared Gralnacz. "HE MOCKED ME! The fool! The idiot! The walking, smart-mouthed devil! That scum!"

"Sir, if we let him warp and just play at going into the warp, without doing so, we can trail back and hit Earth when it's undefended! We'll _win!_ We'll worst the scum with his own sword!" said Trajan.

Trajan found himself being torn asunder with an enraged Gralnacz's electrical energy a moment later. "I...just...saved your career," he gasped. "Take my suggestion. Good...strategy...sir."

"Die, you old piece of organic dung! I will do this **_my way_**!" howled Gralnacz as Trajan cried out and collapsed in death. "Any further takers?"

All of the bridge crew sat in silence. No one dared argue with their commander in this mood, despite the conviction that he had gone beyond merely strange and bloodthirsty into the realms of utter madness.

"Good! Emergency warp! Now!" snapped Gralnacz, who was pacing the deck and tearing at his mock twentieth-century denims. "Get behind them! Give the bastards a little fire to scare them, and when we come out in our rightful time, we'll blow out their engines when we all reappear in the battle! Then, there'll be plunder for all of you! GO! FOLLOW THEM! Earth's past can wait a more opportune moment. I want that ship, and that damnable _Captain!"_

Under his raging orders, the _Sukalnach_ advanced upon the _Argo_ like a rabid dog.

* * *

**VII. THIRTY SECONDS TO ZERO HOUR**

**Space Battleship _Argo_**

**First**** Bridge**

**Lunar Orbit**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-10:29:30.0 AM (London Time)**

* * *

"Wildstar!" cried out Venture as Derek ran back onto the first bridge from out of the port side lift and threw himself into the Captain's chair. As he locked his harness, the bridge crew applauded quickly.

"All congratulations later," snapped Derek. "Steady as she goes. We're getting out of here and letting him follow us while he's good and mad."

"Why's that, sir?" asked Homer.

"If he follows us into that interphase tunnel, we'll go where we're supposed to be going. He won't. Everyone, stand by for battle as soon as we come out of warp near Neptune. All we'll have to deal with are those subs...no more space storm because we'll have gone through it, in spite of our little side trip here. I think we can deal with them and still save...some people from that liner if we move fast enough."

Everyone on the bridge nodded.

"Ten seconds to warp," said Venture as fire from the _Sukalnach_ roared in. He ignored it. "Nine...eight...seven..."

On the _Sukalnach_, Gralnacz was laughing like a fool as his guns slowly began to fire closer to the _Argo_. "Lock on engines, prepare for my mark to pursue," he smiled.

"Five...four...three," said Venture as the wave engine began to power up.

"Engines at maximum! Ready, sir!" said an anonymous officer.

"Get them," smiled Gralnacz. "Wait until they warp out."

More fire roared past the _Argo_ as Venture sat with his hand locked on the throttle. _Got to time this just right, or we're stuck here forever..._ he thought as sweat poured down his face. "...One...Zero...WARP!"

The _Argo _wavered and faded into hyperspace, and into the interphase, with half a second to spare.

The _Sukalnach_ roared up behind, fading into hyperspace just as the gateway closed and began to constrict.

* * *

"What's wrong?" yelled Gralnacz as every one of his ship's systems went berserk.

"Sirrrr," said Karlas with a very slowed-down voice as his image quickly turned into a blur. "We're in a real-space eddy in this warp. The edge of it...caught...us."

"Where are we goinggg?" cried Gralnacz, alarmed that his voice, and even cyborg body functions, seemed to be slowed down.

"Random warp," said Karlas with excruciating slowness. "The warp circuits are melted...the motivator is now a piece of scrap metal. Have no idea where we'll emerge...or when."

"Our mission?" gasped Gralnacz.

"It's a failure. Your lifestyle...it was..."

"Don't you mock me, you fool!" yelled Gralnacz. "You're finished, all of you. Finished! FINISHED!"

Karlas trembled, guessing that for his failure, Ekogaru had just consigned him to an eternity of torture with...

...A raving-mad Gralnacz.

Nowhere on the course it needed to be, the _Sukalnach _trailed off crazily into the multi-colored nothingness that seemed to yawn before it...forever.

* * *

**VIII. BEGINNNING OF A BUSINESS CRUISE**

**The Doctor's TARDIS**

**The Time-Space Vortex**

**Saturday June 24, 1967-10:32 AM (London Time)**

* * *

Mitzi Shavirov came into the TARDIS' control room just as the Doctor was bent in concentration over a monitor on his panel. As usual, the TARDIS' Time Rotor went up and down in a regular pattern in the middle of the hexagonal console.

"Doctor...I..."

"Shhh," replied the Doctor. "Got BBC1 on the telly. It seems Mister Lennon of the Beatles has some interesting ideas about aliens...just his normal ones, luckily. Abbey Road Number Two looks normal, and the Brigadier just told me that the hysteresis we set got rid of the U.N.I.T. troops as I expected. They're back eating breakfast in their barracks in Cornwall, and he was surprised I was calling him up to ask him about it. I told him not to worry. He remembers nothing about what happened, thank Gallifrey. You and the Star Force are the only Terrans who know what happened. The _Argo_ got off on its mission safely, so they'll never tell around here, anyway, at least in this time. And you won't tell, either."

"What? You're going to bump me off?"

"No," laughed the Doctor. "You know that sabbatical you wanted from U.N.I.T. and the American secret service agency you were a member of?"

"How did you know about that?" gasped Mitzi.

"A lot of people tell me a lot of things. The Brigadier and General Ryrie are pleased to inform you, through me, that you've been granted it. For one year, on only one condition, of course."

"That is?"

"You will take off and pursue some research into alien cultures...in the galaxy itself. All your arrangements have been made."

"But, where am I getting a ship?"

"You're _on_ one, silly! And I need a new traveling companion. Things haven't been the same here since Leela left to get married."

"Who's Leela?"

"Warrior of the Sevarteem tribe. I've got some interesting stories to tell you about her. Are you coming with me or do you want to spend your sabbatical in a holiday camp?"

"Doctor, I'll stay with you," said Mitzi.

"Great! It's arranged. Our first port of call will be Earth."

"But I just thought you said..."

"The Earth _they _come from," explained the Doctor, pointing out towards the stars. "Earth in the year 2202, where the _Argo_ is their most famous space battleship and the Star Force happens to be their greatest heroes. They're going home to fight a battle against the Being that sent Gralnacz, whom they've dealt a setback to. However, that Being, Ekogaru the Great, as he humbly calls himself, is a dark, vengeful force of darkness probably as bad as Davros...maybe worse. They'll need expert advice how to fight something like that, as they've had faster-than-light travel for only three years. I may not get a nice reception, but I'm going straight to their Earth Defense Headquarters to talk with Commanding General Singleton himself," said the Doctor as he set the coordinates for January 2202, Earth. "Time is of the essence. And don't talk much, at least at first. These people have been invaded so many times that they're quite a suspicious lot..."

"What?" said the Doctor as the coordinates suddenly went blank. A new set of temporal coordinates appeared on the display he was setting, and the numbers for the spatial coordinates began to run back crazily from the mark of 21987.675.876-Delta towards a much lower set of numbers.

Mitzi screamed as a dark, hooded, but blurry being appeared in the TARDIS control room. "What's that?"

"Not, what, _who'_s that?" roared the Doctor.

"You know what he is?"

"Yes, another blasted Time Lord! _Why do you always have to meddle in my affairs_?" he demanded as the blurred figure faded in.

"It's simple, Doctor. You were on business. However, the Directorate has judged that you have gone too far for now," replied a deep, stentorian voice. "You are needed for other business, in time."

"What in blazes are you doing to my coordinates?"

"Resetting them, and erasing from your computer and your mind those you were about to enter. Your work with the Star Force is finished, for several ages, at any rate."

"Where are you taking me?"

"Look at your coordinates, Old System."

"00000.000.000-Prime?" cried the Doctor. "I just came from there days ago! Why am I wanted on Gallifrey now? Do they want me to confess to things I've never done?"

"No. The First Directorate of the Celestial Intervention Agency needs you...at once. Settle down for a bit of a ride, Doctor. I shall see you shortly."

The form disappeared as the TARDIS began to fade from normal space.

"What's happening?"

"Auto recall circuit...they're serious about this."

"So what do we do?"

"I may be in a bit of trouble, bit at least you can meet Leela first-hand while I'm being investigated again?"

"Investigated? You didn't do anything wrong! You helped them!"

"Ah, but that's not the way the High Council thinks, nor is it the way that my CIA thinks. It seems that during your sabbatical my bosses are calling me on the carpet. Oh, well. Like some tea? I'll boil it up."

"Doctor...thank you. And good luck."

"Thanks. I may need it."

* * *

**IX. BACK INTO THE FIRE**

**The Vicinity of Neptune**

**First**** Bridge**

**Space Battleship Argo**

**January 10, 2202**

**0154 Hours**

* * *

Greenish light, yellowish light, white light.

A moment later, near Neptune, the _Argo_ blinked back into existence, its approach tearing right through one of Hallacher's dark-red R'Khell submarines as the battleship emerged back into real space. As a matter of fact, it was Hallacher's command sub. The R'Khell cleric died quickly.

A momentary warp sickness came over the _Argo's_ crew as they regained their bearings. Then, Venture looked at his chronometer, and at the astro-compass. "Captain, we're back at RPS-180...where that Fortress was."

"What about that sub?" asked Derek.

Nova looked up at the overhead as the Time Radar went off. "It just dropped back down out of hyperspace before we reappeared. It's the one we were after when we left! I'm picking up two objects behind us. Switching to video."

Wildstar smiled with relief for a second and then went grim as he noticed the images of the battered _Colin Powell_ and the _Westhampton__ Beach_ coming up on the screen.

"Captain, the chronometer reads 01-10-2202:0154 Hours Standard," said Venture. "We're back! And everything made it! It worked!"

"And space looks empty except for the frigate _Colin Powell_ and the liner _Westhampton Beach_," said Wildstar. "The wave must have just rolled over them. Maybe it didn't take them anywhere. Homer, try to raise them. I hope people are still alive on those ships."

"The _Powel_l is sending a weak message to us and to the base," replied Homer.

"Read it," snapped Derek.

"It reads: _Eliminated two more subs through direct fire. Two large fortresses appeared and warped away just as wave swept over your battleship. Fought off fighter planes and eliminated same. Badly damaged from final engagement with space submarine. Must return to Neptune area base on Triton at once. Life support fading. Picking up weak distress signal from **Westhampton**** Beach**. Surviving crew requesting aid, relief, and defense, they say they were boarded. Unknown if enemy troopers survived hyperspatial wave. Brief transmission from Uranus area intercepted; wave seems to be fading in intensity as it travels towards Earth and center of solar system. Thanks on a job well done and a battle well fought. Would love to hear if you somehow got those fortresses in warp, which is apparently impossible, and if so, how you did it. -- Regards-- Lieutenant Ember Tyson : Acting Captain, Space Frigate **Colin Powell**._ That's it."

"Captain, the frigate is approaching our area," said Nova as she watched her radar.

"Homer, send this reply," said Derek. _Would fire salute for your gallantry under fire--but must rescue liner and any survivors. Hope to see you soon on Triton and speak of your bravery to base commander. This is far from enough, but thanks for a job well done. Regards-Captain Derek Wildstar: Captain, Space Battleship **Argo**, Commander, First Interstellar Special Missions Force. _After you send that, send this to the _Westhampton__ Beach_: _Understand situation grave. Preparing Medical team to assist and aid survivors, and Marine team to board your vessel, pacify surviving enemy forces, and secure your vessel._ _Regards-Captain Derek Wildstar: Captain, Space Battleship **Argo**, Commander, First Interstellar Special Missions Force._"

"Yessir!" replied Homer.

"Venture, Parsons, find that ship and get us there."

"Yessir."

"Nova, assemble a team of medics. You lead them into the wreck and get any survivors you find and bring them back here. Dash, it's my guess that the troopers on the ship, if any, might be similar to the troopers we encountered in the past. You go brief Ensign Hemsford of the Marine Group on the situation and tell him as much as you know, and give him his marching orders."

"Yessir," began Dash as Nova left the bridge. "Rosstowski?"

"Yessir?"

"I'm going to remember you, Hartcliffe, and Nova in a while for what you did in the twentieth century. Thanks for your valor under fire in that fracas back on Abbey Road and for trying to save the Lieutenant and I. Got it?"

"Yessir," smiled Rosstowski. "Anything else?"

"When you can, eat a good meal and chill out," smiled Wildstar. "Damn good job you did back there."

"Thanks, sir. You too."

"Thanks. Venture, full speed. We've got a job to do!" said Captain Wildstar.

On that note, back in its own time, but facing an alien incident that was getting stranger by the minute, the space battleship _Argo_ roared on.

**END.**

* * *

**Here ends _Fixing a Hole._**  
**To return to the Introduction to the _Rikasha Incident _Please click ****here**


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